Trabia Stratagem
by Industrialis
Summary: A conspiracy-driven continuation of the FF8 story. Ch. 36 uploaded! Aren races to save his endangered friends... R&R, please?
1. Old Friends

..S e e D..  
  
Sound Man: Trabia Stratagem  
  
Written by Industrialis  
  
~  
  
Based on characters and situations from Final Fantasy VIII.  
  
All names, places, and other references to FFVIII © SquareSoft.  
  
All original names, places, and character descriptions © Industrialis.  
  
~  
  
] 8 month 371  
  
] Galbadia Garden  
  
] Galbadia  
  
Galbadia's Garden stood out proudly upon the sandy shore. Quite a contrast it was to the light sand before it, and the scattered forest on all sides. It stood out like a sore thumb, a domed structure several stories in the air. A few passenger ships were docked at its small seaside port. The narrow road leading from shore to Garden was bustling with newly- unloaded patrons.  
  
Irvine Kinneas stepped under the high bridge over the gateway entry. He was tall and perhaps a little thin, but stood prominent and sure. A black cowboy hat covered his dark brown hair. A long, flowing trench coat matched the tan hue of his pants, and his dark boots shone from perfect polish.  
  
"Hope I still have my card on me," he said. "Never know when some new guy'll keep the gates..." He paused, and suddenly turned. "Oh, there you are."  
  
Aren stood a few feet behind him, head cocked up at the two crossing bridges above him. He was shorter than his friend, bigger built and with a wider stance. His long black hair was cut at his shoulders his face paler than Irvine's tan. Dark, curved sunglasses covered his eyes. He wore a red long-sleeved shirt emblazoned with an angular symbol on the chest. It was tucked in and held by a black belt. His black pants were slightly baggy, they bunched a little at the soles of his thick boots.  
  
He joined Irvine, some yards away from the many waist-high gates that lined the wide entrance. "Nice place," he nodded.  
  
"Yup, home sweet home...ah! Here we go." Irvine pulled a plastic card from his lower coat pocket. "What do you think?"  
  
"Nice card. Bad picture though, I never seem to get a good one either..."  
  
"The Garden, stupid."  
  
Aren nodded. "Right, righ. Nothing short of awesome, man. Now, Balamb's bigger or smaller than this?"  
  
"Oh, way bigger! Not as comfortable. Folks are friendlier around here."  
  
"I thought this was a military center," said Aren, finding his own card in his pants pocket.  
  
"Yeah, you'll get used to that part, too."  
  
They approached the windowed gate, where a skinny teenage girl was seated with her head against the glass, asleep. Irvine stepped up, and rapped on it quickly, and the adolescent leapt back startled.  
  
"Oh! Umm, ah...wel-welcome! Welcome to Galbadia Garden!" she stuttered. "H-how can I help you?"  
  
Irvine passed his card through a thin slot in the glass. "Irvine Kinneas, resident SeeD. How's it goin'?"  
  
She fumbled the card into a boxlike machine on her counter. "Um, good! Thanks. Let's see, insert the card longways...oh, did I put it in backwards?"  
  
"Nope, it's in right."  
  
"Oh, thank goodness! Now I...ah, I...oh, what now?"  
  
Irvine sneaked a finger across the window. "Red button on the right side," he whispered with a smile.  
  
"Right! Right! Red button on the side. I knew that!" She tapped the button, and a small light shone from the machine's slot as the card was scanned. "Resident gets red. Resident gets red. Sorry about this, I'm kinda new."  
  
"No prob! Hey, didn't I see you at the cafeteria last week? You had the register, right?"  
  
"Yeah," she sighed. "They're moving me around. Gotta work off my education doing whatever they want. Seems like I'm learning a new job every day."  
  
"Keep it up," said Irvine. "You're doing fine. Say, you got one of those recommendation cards around?"  
  
The gatekeeper perked up. "Really? Wow, sure! Here you go!"  
  
She slid an index card through the slot, and Irivne snatched it up. "And one for my friend, here," he said, and she gladly handed him another.  
  
Aren took the card, pocketed it, and slid his identification to her. "Aren Bowes," he smiled cordially. "Terra Garden."  
  
"Okay," said the young keeper, and pushed the ID card into the boxlike machine. She reached for the red button, but caught herself and chose a blue one under it. "Travelers get blue," she mumbled to herself as the card was scanned. After a second or two, it popped back out, and she gave it back to its owner.  
  
Irvine waved as they passed through an open gate. "Thanks!" he called. "Keep it up!"  
  
The airborne bridges were behind them now, and they entered a spacious courtyard a few hundred feet wide. There was no ceiling, this center area was open-air. Two stories of dormitories and various hallway entrances rose around them. At the far end, an open hall led to the training center. SeeD students, dressed sharply in black uniforms, marched in lines in and out of the hall to the shouts of their overbearing drill instructors.  
  
But dispite the traces of militarism, the atmosphere was surprisingly casual. Most students were out of uniform, perhaps enjoying their free period. Some sat at various benches about the courtyard, others leaned over the second-story fences.  
  
A group of three young ladies strolled by. Irvine gave a casual smile and waved, Aren bowed his head. The girls giggled and whispered to each other as they passed.  
  
"I could get used to this," said Aren wryly. "Wow, do they all look that good?"  
  
"You ain't seen nothin' yet, dude." They found an empty bench, and sat down. "Okay, you see her?" Irvine asked, pointing to a beautiful blonde. "That's Miana, level two, block fourteen."  
  
"No kidding!" Aren said. "You're seeing her?"  
  
"Nah, it was fun while it lasted. And that one there, see her?" he pointed to a tall redhead. "That'd be Terri. Level one, block nine."  
  
Aren shook his head. "Man, you just can't sit still, can you?"  
  
"No way! It's against my principles. Go ahead, pick out any one of them. Bet you twenty Gil I've at least dated her."  
  
"Hmm...all right, let's see. Who here would be way too classy for you?" He snapped his finger. "There! On the bench across the yard. See her? Short brown hair, tan dress, brown boots. There's no way in..."  
  
Irvine almost fell off his seat. His eyes popped wide open. "Holy...!"  
  
"Yeah, let's not get too crazy, now. So, have you or not?"  
  
The trench coat flowed behind Irvine as he sprinted off toward the bench. He stopped beside the young lady, and gave her a hard shove. She toppled off her seat, and skidded along on the ground. "Hey!" she screamed.  
  
Irvine knelt quickly to the floor, and shook her by the shoulders. "Selphie!" he shouted. "Selphie, it's me!"  
  
"Wha--Irvine!" The dark-haired girl threw herself in his arms. "Irv, I can't believe it!"  
  
Irvine hugged her, then pulled her back. "Wow, me neither! I, like, thought I'd never see you again! Geez, it's been forever!"  
  
"No kidding!" said Selphie, as he helped her up. "Hey, you look great!"  
  
"Aw, you too! Hey, come on, you've gotta meet a friend of mine."  
  
The two reached Aren, and Irvine pointed to the girl beside him. "Aren! Do you know who this is?!"  
  
"I have no idea!" laughed Aren, matching his excited phrase.  
  
Irvine cocked an eye. "Really? Why?"  
  
Aren shrugged. "You didn't introduce me."  
  
"Yeah, but didn't you, like..."  
  
"None of my business," Aren shook his head. "You still think I listen in on you? Come on!"  
  
"Oh, well, okay then!" He squeezed the slightly-confused girl once again. "This is my dear friend Miss Selphie Tilmitt!"  
  
Aren's head jerked back, his flowing locks swishing about, as he cracked a broad smile. "No way!" he shouted. "You're the Selphie Tilmitt?!"  
  
Selphie giggled energetically. Her short black hair was straight, but curled sharply at the end. She wore a short, tan dress attached overall- style at her shoulders. Brown boots covered her feet and lower legs, and she cradled a set of long-handled nunchaku under her arm. "Whaddaya mean, the Selphie?" she asked with a smile. "Sounds like I'm some sort of legend!"  
  
"Oh, but you are! You led the team that blew up the Galbadian missle base! You saved Balamb Gar..."  
  
From behind Selphie, Irvine shook his head violently. No, he mouthed silently, and Aren cut himself off.  
  
Selphie fidgeted a bit, and turned around. "So...who's your friend here?" she asked cheerfully.  
  
"Oh, that's right," Irvine nodded, pointing to his comrade. "He's an SeeD friend of mine, we met when I was on a mission to Terra."  
  
Aren extended a friendly hand. Amid his palm was a small metal sphere, that glistened a reflection brightly. "Aren Bowes, ma'am," he nodded. "A pleasure."  
  
"Hehe, what?" Selphie bubbled, pointing to Aren's hand. "You gonna shock me with that or something?"  
  
Irvine poked her side hard. Aren glanced down, and thinned his smile, just a bit. "Um, no ma'am."  
  
"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry! That was awful of me!" she gasped, and took the handshake rather vigorously.  
  
"No problem," Aren said with a nod. "Never can be sure if I'm hanging around a guy like Irvine, right?"  
  
"So Selphie!" Irvine cut in, quickly. "Like, what are you doing here?"  
  
Selphie placed her weapon into her back pocket. "Oh, I'm here to convince the headmaster to send some funding Trabia's way. They're really hurting up there."  
  
"That's too bad," said Irvine, and scratched at his hat. "Hey, I'll help if I can, you know that. But while you're here, you gotta promise me you'll have some fun!"  
  
"Heh, okay, I'll try. Maybe that's what you can help me with! Been a while since I've experienced that annoying Irvine charm!" She giggled, and turned to Aren. "Seriously, does he get any girls doing that?"  
  
But she caught sight of Irvine's friend, and gave a puzzled look. Aren had his hand to his temple, and his eyes were closed. He gritted his teeth hard, cringed for a moment, but then looked sharply up. "Oh!" he said. "I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention."  
  
"Hey bud, you okay?" asked Irvine. "What's up, off-balance or something?"  
  
"Yeah," Aren nodded. "I'll go have a seat over there, if you don't mind."  
  
Selphie watched him sit back on a bench, and rub his forehead. "Is he all right?" she asked. "He...looks kinda woozy!"  
  
"Oh yeah," Irvine nodded. "He just needs a minute, comes and goes. Like, change in altitude or something."  
  
"Hmm...is there...something wrong with him?" she asked, kicking at the marble-tiled floor.  
  
Irvine rubbed his chin a moment. "Well, there's nothing wrong with him, he just gets a little disoriented sometimes. And he's, like, a little sensitive about it, so kinda watch what you say."  
  
"Oh geez, I hope I didn't hurt his feelings..."  
  
"Nah!" he waved. "You didn't know. I'll explain it all to you later, it's kinda complicated. Right now, how 'bout some of that fun?"  
  
Selphie sighed. "Aw, you know I'd love to. But I've still got to check into my room, and then I gotta write down what I'm gonna tell the headmaster tomorrow. And if there's any time left, I could go for some sleep."  
  
"Aha!" Irvine raised a triumphant hand. "Sleep! Now there's something I can help with!"  
  
"Ir-vine!" she smiled.  
  
"I know, I know, just kidding. Here." He pulled a wrapper from his jacket pocket, and from his deep pants pocket retrieved a small pen. Scratching his room number onto the paper, he handed it to Selphie. "We gotta catch up, kid. Come visit when you're free, okay?"  
  
"You got it. And hey, it was really great seeing you again!" Selphie waved and skipped off, stopping at the bench where Aren rested. "Umm, Aren?" she said quietly. "You gonna be okay?"  
  
Aren raised his head from his hands. "Sure," he smiled, "feeling better already. Sorry 'bout the little incident there."  
  
"Oh, don't worry about that, I'm sorry for what I said! Please don't take offense!"  
  
He slowly stood. "No, of course not. It was nice meeting you, Selphie."  
  
"You too! Tell you what, as soon as I get some freetime, why don't we all go out together?"  
  
"Okay," he raised his eyebrows behind the black glasses. "Sounds like fun."  
  
"See you 'round, Aren!" Selphie hopped off down a spacious hall.  
  
Irvine made sure Selphie was a distance away, then reached his friend by the bench, and gave him a shove. "You're in! I think she likes you, man!"  
  
Aren stumbled backwards and nearly toppled over, but he caught himself against the bench. "Hey, watch it!" he laughed, and carefully pulled himself to his feet. "I think I made an idiot of myself!"  
  
"Yeah, I think you're right!" Irvine laughed, and gave Aren's shoulder another hard push. The pale young man fell back once more, and Irvine shook his head. "Like, get a grip, man!"  
  
"Oh, yeah, real nice!" Aren sneered jokingly. "Go ahead, bully the poor cripple kid!"  
  
Irvine waved his hat at Bowes. "What? You think I'm gonna fall for that 'cripple' act you shovel the chicks?"  
  
"What act? Dude, when my head stops spinnin', you're so dead!"  
  
~ 


	2. Aren Bowes

~  
  
"And not only does Trabia need...no, not need...uhm, *require!* Not only does Trabia require *financial* assistance, but...but...oh, I need *sleep!*"  
  
Selphie plopped down on the small loveseat in her quarters. "How do public speakers *do* it?" she sighed, tossing a notepad on the floor, and rubbing her eyes. "Think convincing, think convincing!"  
  
Her attention wandered to a small radio on her table. A carefully- constructed techno track reverberated from it, as best as the little speaker could provide, and filled the room. "Hey!" cried Selphie. "Fadeaway!' Wow, that song's like ten years old! Wonder who requested it?"  
  
"Hey hey!" an annoying radio personality cut in, as the song hit its end. "You're tuned in to 'Shot at Fame,' the local show here on Galbadia Cable Radio! We transmit every weeknight, from eleven to one-thirty..."  
  
She glanced at the digital clock beside her radio. Twelve fifteen.  
  
"And our goal is to get some smalltown kids recognized for the true musicians they really are! Well, *some* of them, most of them just *suck,* but whaddaya gonna do? They get a shot too."  
  
That's not very nice, thought Selphie with a frown.  
  
The deejay continued, as she sighed tiredly. "Anywhoo, that last track was a trip down memory lane for you oldschoolers! Local remix of "Fadeaway," by a dude named Aren Bowes. The verdict: Mix us a little *talent,* and maybe we'll play you again, buddy."  
  
She growled, and slumped upright, drudging to the radio. "What a bunch of losers! I thought his song was really good!" She flipped the radio off, but stopped short, and snapped her finger. "Wait, did he say Aren Bowes? That's *him!* Cool, he's even a musician!"  
  
Sighing, she reached to the floor and snatched the paper back up. "Daydream later, sister! I got a speach to write! Okay, here we go...'Financial assistance, but several SeeDs are needed for the...the *task* of cleansing the town of monsters...'"  
  
~  
  
"As well as for protection from outside forces. With Garden no longer a presence in Trabia, area pirate groups are becoming a real threat."  
  
Selphie riffled through pieces of notebook paper as she trotted quickly down the hall. She muttered portions of the writing under her breath. A frilled sheet left the pile as she ran, and floated to the ground. She bent down to pick it up. But a steel-toed boot slammed it down before her hand could reach.  
  
A tall, red-haired SeeD student bore down on her. He was rather young- looking, perhaps fifteen, but massively built and imposing. A torn black shirt and tattered jeans adorned him, as well as various metal studs, piercings, and chains. Three other cadets, similarly dressed, stood beside him, laughing. The boot slowly lifted, and she reached again, but it stomped back down.  
  
"Come on," Selphie said angrily, "cut it out! You want me to report you?"  
  
"Ooh! She's gonna *report* me!" the bully scoffed with his friends. "Whatchyou doin' here?"  
  
"I'm meeting with the headmaster, and I need that!"  
  
"What, this?" He rubbed the paper into the floor. "Come on, get it!"  
  
Selphie growled angrily, and reached for her back pocket, but her weapons were not there. She sighed dejectedly.  
  
"I was wrong, guys," said the bully. "It ain't her. She'd have done something by now."  
  
His smirk soon disappeared. In a jolting convulsion, he screamed in sudden pain, grasping his temples with open palms. His companions stepped back, and watched uneasily. Selphie cocked a curious eye.  
  
Aren stepped up from behind the group. "Is there a problem, Selphie?" he asked in a soft, quiet whisper.  
  
"Aaaugh!!" the bully jerked back his head, and fell to his knees. Selphie scrambled up, backing away.  
  
Aren bent down, his back turned to her, and looked the writhing student in the eye. "Aw, what's wrong?" he said quietly. "It hurts?"  
  
"Augh, stop! It hurts, it hurts!"  
  
"Yeah, know what that is?" Aren's black shades stayed focused on the young man's wide eyes. It's your eardrums ready to pop. And know what else?"  
  
He paused, and reached for the sunglasses. Selphie craned her neck to see around his turned back. She watched him bring a finger to his shades, and tip them down. The bully gasped and jumped back. Selphie raised a puzzled eyebrow.  
  
The shades went back, Aren put a hand to his side. "If I whisper just a little louder, you'll go deaf. But...what if I yell? Or even cough? You know, I think I feel a sneeze coming on..."  
  
"N-no! Please, I'm sorry!"  
  
"Good boy. You better go pick up your pride, pal, it's all over the floor."  
  
Aren shoved him over and picked up the note. The cadet scrambled to his feet, moaning and covering his ears. He took off down the hall with his bewildered friends.  
  
"Nothing worse than a cocky trainee," said Aren, turning to Selphie and handing the paper to her. "Guess they recognized you. They're pretty tough around here."  
  
Selphie took the note. "Thanks. What'd you do to him?"  
  
"Just messed with his head a little. He'll recover fine."  
  
"So, it was magic? Like a time-space spell?"  
  
Aren laughed. "Oh, jeez no! Me and magic don't get along at *all!*"  
  
"I see." Selphie began down the hall. She looked over her shoulder and nudged her head. "Walk with me?"  
  
"Sure," Aren stepped in beside her. "I keep away from magic, don't use it at all."  
  
"Oh, me either," said Selphie. "Well, I used to. I had a Guardian Force for a while, but I let it go. I hated the thought of losing my memory, forgetting my friends...I dunno, it just scared me."  
  
Aren brushed his long hair forward. "I don't blame you. Irvine got rid of his, too."  
  
"I know," replied Selphie. "We did it at the same time, way back in the day. At least they let us keep our SeeD licenses. No battling, though. So how'd you lose *your* GF?"  
  
"Me? I never had one. I passed the test without one."  
  
Selphie looked to his shaded eyes. "What? How'd you pass the test without magic?"  
  
"Well, I fight my own way. There's a little magic involved, I guess, but no Guardian Force. It's kinda hard to explain."  
  
"Hmm," Selphie pondered. "Magic without a GF! Wow, that is so cool!" She rounded a corner, and Aren followed at her side. "So, you're a SeeD? Where from?"  
  
"Terra Garden," said Aren. "But I grew up in Galbadia. I'm surprised though, I don't know a while lot of people here. How 'bout you?"  
  
Selphie sighed. "I'm from Trabia."  
  
"Oh," Aren winced, "wow, I'm...really sorry."  
  
She quickly picked herself up. "Aw, it's not your fault! And you know, things're really starting to look up!"  
  
Aren's black hair carried some in the wind; he quickly brushed it back down. "Well *that's* good news!"  
  
"Sure is! They're rebuilding the city hall, and more people are getting out of the shelters and into some decent homes."  
  
"They must've gotten hit pretty hard," said Aren. "Were you talking about some sort of funding for Trabia, the other day?"  
  
"Mm-hmm! I'm meeting with the headmaster today, in fact. Trabia...well, we just need support. I've really gotta go back with some money. Boy, am I nervous!"  
  
The young man smiled, and raised some cheerful eyebrows behind his dark shades. "You'll do fine. You've got a terriffic speaking voice."  
  
Selphie looked up, and beamed a cheerful smile. "Really? Thanks!"  
  
They reached the spacious cafeteria. At a far table, Irvine waved with his black cowboy hat. Aren and Selphie waved back.  
  
"Listen," said Aren, "I can't stay, I've got a little work to do."  
  
"Oh!" Selphie frowned. "I really wish you could! We'll talk again, right?"  
  
"Oh sure, we've all still got to go out, remember?"  
  
Selphie nodded. "Right! And thanks again, I've really got to start carrying my nunchaku."  
  
Aren started off. "No prob. Good luck on the proposal!"  
  
~ 


	3. Shot Down

~

Irvine sipped a drink. "Well, it's not really _magic_...It's, like, manipulation."

"How so?" asked Selphie from across the lunch table.

"Hmm...Aren was right, it_ is _complicated." He looked down at his glass. "Okay, here we go. You ever go swimming, and get water in your ears?"

"Sure," Selphie nodded. "You, kinda, can't stand up straight, right?"

Irvine pointed to his ear. "Right! Your hearing keeps your center of balance. So Aren can alter sound, and give a weird vertigo-effect thing too. Sorta like time-space magic."

"Wow, how does he do it?"

Irvine shrugged. "Dunno, kid. He never told me. He's pretty sensitive about the whole thing, too, I don't think you should bring it up with him."

"Oh, okay." She raised a hotdog from her plate, and took a bite.

"Hey," said Irvine. "Big day today, right?"

"Mm! Uh-huh! Today at three-thirty sharp. Do-or-die, for as much money as I can weasel out of your Garden."

"Yeah, well, Trabia deserves it. They've been fighting pretty hard to get things back together." He patted her lightly on the head. "And _you_ deserve a little rest! Now, you've gotta promise me you'll take it easy once you get the cash."

Selphie crossed her heart. "Promise! And you'll be my guide to the Galbadia nightlife, of course."

"Of course!" He bowed classily. "Who else but myself could attain such an in-depth knowledge of the dance club?"

"Not many," she replied, "that's for sure." She leaned back in her chair, and paused a moment. "Hey, does Aren by any chance play music?"

Irvine laughed, and set his elbows on the round metal table. "Selphie, have I been detecting a sudden interest in a one Aren Bowes here?"

"Huh? No!" she chuckled back.

"I can tell these things, you know."

"No!"

"Very well then, yes. Aren is a musician. Why?"

She gave an exaggerated shrug. "Oh, I dunno, I just think I saw something on the radio the other day, and..."

"You _saw_ something, on the _radio?"_ Irvine pointed. "A little mixed up there, are we?"

"What? Oh! I dunno...no!"

"_Lovestruck_, perhaps?"

Selphie crossed her arms. "Come on, I said no!"

"Oh, you want him don't you?"

"Shut up!"

~

A tall, dark-skinned man in a tassel-trimmed suit sat behind a long oak desk. His eyes squinted, he rubbed his cleanly-shaven chin. "Miss Tilmitt," he said in a deep voice. "I know the situation requires attention, but I'm afraid Galbadia Garden cannot provide the resources inthe quantity you specify."

"But sir," said Selphie, standing beside a cushiony chair in the headmaster's spacious office. "Trabia _needs_ Garden intervention! We have no protection, very little shelter, and we still need medical supplies! There's _children_ there that..."

The headmaster stood, and cut her short. "I'm sorry, Miss Tilmitt. In fact, we are recovering from our own bout with Balamb Garden. The funding just isn't there."

"Isn't there _any_ way you can help?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Tilmitt. Thank you for your consideration."

"But Trabia's _dying!_" Selphie cried.

"Miss Tilmitt, I bid you good _day!"_

A Garden supervisor, dressed in a wide-brimmed headpiece and long crimson robe, caught Selphie by the arm, and escorted her out of the giant office. Another enterd through the same door.

The tall headmaster pointed for the door to be closed. It was. "We need her out of here," he said sharply. "Immediately."

"Yes, headmaster," replied the supervisor.

"She's not a healthy influence. She'll only generate sympathy for Trabia. We can't waste our time on that burned-out Garden."

The headmaster's thin eyes grew thinner, and he slammed his fist against the table. "How long has she been here?"

"A few days, sir," replied the supervisor. "She arrived by train, directly from Trabia."

"This is bad," said the tall man, and he stepped away from the desk. "What if she's tried to access the database? You never know what might slip through! If she keeps snooping around for information on Trabia..."

He brought his hands to his face. "Delete her record of stay, and evict her immediately."

~


	4. Blood

a/n: Thanks for the review! A'ight, a reader!! *does the Safety Dance...whatever that is!* And so I write...

~

Blackness surrounded Aren, clung to his body, a cold nothing as vast as infinity. He breathed it in, felt it coarse through his veins, and escape through his pores in nervous sweat. The dark was something he knew too well, and dispised all the more.

"Trey!" he heard, a voice from behind him. A child's, a young boy's. It was a distant call, but its volume shook through Aren's head with deafening force. He groaned, and reached to clasp his ears, and his black-gloved palms punched hard onto the sides of his aching head.

Where was his hair? His long black hair, it was gone. His fingers ran across bald skin, and the ice-cold of steel. Aren threw his hands to his sides.

The boy called again. "Trey! Wait up! I wanna drive this time!" The sound was immense, he felt his head ready to explode. He turned, perhaps to face the boy, to quiet him. Enough to get his bearings, to find a way out.

But the voice still came from behind. No, another voice, another boy. "You know the rule," it mocked. "First one to the Millie-Car gets to drive!"

Aren felt the rush of wind pass him on the right, and two young boys raced by. How could they see? How did they know where to step? They could have been upside down, or running on the wall, if a wall was even there, for all Aren knew. But they knew where they were going, and he did not.

Perhaps they did not see the darkness.

One of the boys was tall and thin, pale-skinned, and with red hair. His clothing was torn to shreds that barely covered his naked body. Flesh was torn from him in massive chunks, an arm hung from threads. But still, he was running. Running quickly, as his melted and shredded body bled, and taunting his friend.

His friend, the loser, the smaller boy who struggled to catch up...he seemed unharmed. His fuzzy blue shirt and baggy jeans, they were intact, and clean of blood. The white-pale skin of his arms was whole, and they pumped furiously to catch up with the running corpse.

"Tuh...Trey!" he panted. "That-that's not fair! You know I'm...slower than you!"

The bloodied boy stopped, and laughed, as the dark liquid formed in a pool that seeped into the darkness. "Alright, slowpoke, here's your chance!"

Even harder ran the little loser, to make the most of his opportunity. But he began to cramp, or so Aren thought, because he grasped his heaving stomach with an arm. He grew close to the laughing dead boy, growling with determination.

But as he readied to pass, he lost his balance, and bounded through the black abyss. He collided with his mangled friend, and the two toppled over in a spectacle of blood.

Aren heard the red-haired child shout again. "Hey! What'd you do _that _for?!" rang through his head like a bullet.

"Sorry, Trey!" said the second boy. A grossly disfigured hand shoved at his chest, and he fell free of the accidental tackle. Quickly he stood, and offered a helping hand to his angered friend, but the still-attached arm waved him off. So he shrugged, and waited, rubbing the short black hair on his head.

And he turned. For the first time, Aren was able to see this boy's face. Not unharmed, as he had thought. The poor child's face was gashed open at the forehead, and dried blood was spattered about the wound. Behind two swollen, purple eye sockets, dark crimson blood poured, and ran down his cheeks in a constant stream. The boy looked up from his friend, and his gory eyes stared deeply at Aren.

But the corpse of his friend stood, and brushed off his mangled body with shattered hands. "Look what you did?!" he snapped, "you tore my pants! Way to go, Aren!" His dangling arm swung up, and thumped the bloody-eyed boy in the stomach. "Just for that, I'm driving _next _time too!"

The gaze was broken; the dead boy once again ran off. But his comrade hung behind, and no longer tried to catch up. His head hung low, and blood streamed from his eyes, and disappeared into the blackness.

Wait! called Aren. _Don't go! Hurry, get away from the car!_ He strained himself to move in the darkness, but it held him back. At every inch of his body, the abyss detained him. He could only watch, and shout, and so he did.

Come back, please! Call Trey! Tell him it's not safe! Listen to me!

The bleeding boy did not listen. Perhaps he could not hear. But he shuffled his feet through the darkness, the darkness that held Aren so tightly. And the boy sighed.

"I'll _never _beat Trey to the Millie-Car..."

The phrase pounded at Aren's head like a powerful punch. He fought the darkness to cover his ears once more, but to no avail. And so he watched, as this little boy's friend disappeared in the distance, and shouted taunts that echoed from so far away.

Aren could move his head, he knew it. He was not sure how, or why, but all of the sudden, his head was free. Perhaps if he saw where he was held back, he tought, he could free himself. He turned it right, to see his arm. But there was no arm. No arm, and no shoulder, merely darkness.

Panic overcame him, and he swung left. Nothing, only darkness. His chest, his legs, all were gone. And a cold numbness began to coarse through what moments ago, he swore he felt. Hands, feet, his entire body, felt only cold death. He could not fight it, he could not feel to fight. Were his arms even there? What was this?

He knew, he knew exactly what it was. His darkness.

The bloody-eyed boy stood before him. And his mouth moved, but the child spoke nothing. But his swollen sockets widened, and blood-caked eyebrows raised in instant surprise, as he gazed frozen at the point where his friend had disappeared. He flung backwards, his head nodding toward the sky, and a spray of bright blood poured into the darkness.

The falling child faded into black, and once again, Aren saw nothing. But he felt. He felt the sharp, powerful sensation of pain, the sense that never dulls. And he felt the steady trickle of blood over his face.

~

"Aaugh!"

Aren woke with a jump, and fell hard onto a cold surface. His head pounded hard. Slowly, he opened his thin eyes, and a blur of sweet vision lay out before him.

My quarters, he thought. And indeed it was. His living room, to be exact. A small, square room, fitted with a loveseat and television, and a small desk with a computer. The bright lights and white-papered walls added to his headache.

He stumbled to his feet, and plopped back onto the loveseat. Gloved hands rubbed at his sweat-soaked hair. _Damn, _he nodded, _that really needs to go away._

Rubbing his face, he let out an angered sigh. "Computer on!" he snapped. At the little desk, the computer screen flickered to life. Aren hopped to his feet, and stepped carefully over the piles of paper laying about the room. He sat at a small stool, and made a few taps at the keyboard.

Don't think about it, just let it go. Great, I've been out for hours. Look at the time I've lost.

He leaned back a little, and folded his arms. "Computer," he drolled, "bring up file marked 'Trabia Stratagem,' please."

The computer cranked out a strain of funny noises. _It's never taken this long before, _wondered Aren. _Stupid thing's probably broken._

The computer finally replied, in a tingy, artificial-sounding voice. "Cannot process request. Multiple files are named 'Trabia Stratagem.'"

"What?" Aren cocked an eye.

"Cannot process request," repeated the computer. "Multiple..."

Aren smacked the screen. "Yeah, I know! I know!" He rubbed his chin. "That's odd. How can there be two files with the same name? Computer, list files you've found."

"Listing files," said the computer. Two names appeared on the screen, both of them "Trabia Stratagem," and each had a small description. Aren read the first, it was familiar to him. This was the file he had been working on for weeks, and saving his progress on every night. The information confirmed this; it was saved on his local hard drive, and had last been accessed only six hours ago.

But the second file was not saved on his hard drive. Its location was the Galbadia Garden main database. _That's not even supposed to be open to the public, _thought Aren, as he read on. The file had not been accessed since a year ago. And the file size and type were exactly the same as that of Aren's.

"This is unbelievable," he thought aloud. "Computer, open number two of list."

"Opening file," the computer replied. More grinding sounds came from the aged system, and soon, the screen flashed to life with a three-dimensional model. The model of a rocket.

Behind a set of black sunglasses, Aren's eyebrows raised.

~

a/n: If anyone has information regarding the procedure involved in the Safety Dance, please email them to pyrover@yahoo.com. Thank you. =P


	5. Bad Break

~

The dim nightbulbs did their best to fight off the courtyard's blackness. Cold air whipped about in sharp gusts. The open-air meeting place was empty, the SeeDs and young charges were retreated to their quarters for the night. Trees blew in the frigid wind, tossing leaves onto the empty benches and bare ground.

Irvine walked casually beside Aren, letting his tan trench coat flow in the wind. "You're, like, really serious about this," he said, "aren't you?"

A red skullcap covered Aren's head, and he wore a black hooded jacket over his crimson shirt. His shiny black hair trailed from under it and whipped about with the breeze. His lips formed a thin line through his pale face. And dispite the dark, he wore his sunglasses.

"Serious, yes," he replied. "But not sure. Well, I'll put it this way. You've known about Trabia Stratagem for, what, a month?"

"Yeah," said Irvine. "You thought it up like five weeks ago."

"Well, I checked the plan on Galbadia's database, and the figures are exactly the same. They drew the flight curve, the impact radius, everything. And not only that, but they made a three-dimensional model of the missles used to strike Trabia."

Irvine felt the wind blow at his hat, and he pushed it down. "Well, what's it mean?"

"Okay," said Aren. "Here's my take on the whole thing. A year ago, right after the attack on Trabia, Galbadia Garden noticed the same thing I'm noticing now. That something was wrong in the calculations. So they set up a team to map it all out, just like I'm doing." He shrugged, and leaned against the metal fence of the Meeting area. "They found out they were wrong, and they closed the search. And here I am, making the same mistake all over again."

"Hmm," Irvine nodded. "That's the simplest explanation, yeah. Didn't you say you needed a...another figure, or something?"

"I do," Aren nodded, sending his fist into his palm. "I need the exact point the first missle hit in Trabia. And the Garden's Trabia Stratagem didn't have that either. Guess they never included it, or maybe the data was corrupted."

Irvine nodded. "What's it gonna take to get that point?"

"Well," shrugged Aren, "I gotta go to Trabia. I'm not on the active duty list here yet, so I assume they won't be calling on me for a few weeks."

"Hey," Irvine said. "I'm looking at a couple weeks' leave in a few days! We could both head over there, bro!"

"All right!" Aren's eyebrows raised. "You know of any flights to Trabia?"

"No way, man! There's nowhere to land. You can still get there by train, though.

Aren's face cringed. "Great, I hate trains."

The wind died down some, and Irvine let go of his hat, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. "It ain't so bad. Get a soundproofed car, or something."

"Too expensive," said Aren, and laughed. "I'll get some earmuffs."

"There you go! And hey, I can think of someone else who'd sure like to go."

Irvine leaned against the fence beside his friend, and nudged his shoulder. Aren raised back his head. And Irvine could not see, but was sure that he was rolling his eyes.

"Selphie?" said Aren. "Don't you think that's a bad idea? I mean, she's probably got enough to worry about as it is." He paused, and stood silently. "But if she's going back anyway, it'd make sense to take her with us. Just _don't _tell her about Trabia Stratagem!"

Irvine stretched, and nodded. "This looks to be a pretty decent vacation! I'm gonna get some rest, man. Catch me tomorrow, I'll see if I can get some train tickets lined up."

"Later," nodded Aren. He leaned over the steel fence as his friend left. Leaves blew across the ground, and collided with his thick boots. He mumbled quietly under his breath, pointing his finger in the air, drawing out imaginary numbers. "Hmm...launch velocity of five-hundred-thirty miles per hour, estimated...start angle of eighty-five degrees...man, it just doesn't make _sense!"_

He lifted his head, and cocked it, annoyed. "Jeez, I can't concentrate with that stupid _noise!_ Now, if the afterburners were on prematurely, the speed would be five-seventy..."

Pausing, and scratching his fuzzy cap, he looked about. _What is that?_ he thought. _Sounds rhythmic, almost like...mm-hmm._

He reached inside his thick leather coat, and retrieved two curved metal clasps. They were about the length of his forearms, and exactly the shape. He attached them tightly to either arm. _It's breathing. Too dramatic to be human. Maybe something snuck in from outside._

With a sudden jolt, Aren tore around the center pillar of the courtyard. His boots clapped the ground hard, but made no noise. _It's to the left, by one of the benches. Hope it hasn't smelled me yet._

Aren leapt as hard as he could, launching himself several yards past the pillar. He hit the ground in a roll, halted abruptly at a kneel, and thrusted out both his fists in the direction of the park bench. He was just short of twenty feet from the seat.

"Aaaaugh!!"

Selphie jumped high into the air. She fell behind the wooden bench, sending up a cloud of leaves and twigs.Her brown leather boots jutted out from the thick brush she landed in, scrambling to stand.

Aren sprinted to the shrubs, his steps now making loud claps against the cold ground. He spread the bushes aside. "Whoa!" he said quietly. "Selphie! Sorry about that, I didn't know it was you. Lemme help you up!"

"Oh, it's _you,_ Aren!" sighed Selphie. "_Wow, _did you scare me! I didn't hear you coming!"

"Sorry." He took her hand, and carefully lifted her from the plants, brushing off her shoulders. "You okay? Here, have a seat. All right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Whoo, don't _do _that! Ohmy_gosh,_ don't _ever _do that again!" Selphie caught her breath, sighing heavily as Aren sat beside her. She wiped her eyes a bit, and leaned back. "How come you're up so late?"

"Just doing some thinking," said Aren. "I was talking with Irvine, he just went to bed."

"Heh," she sniffed. "With some gorgeous girl, no doubt!"

Aren laughed. "Believe it or not, he was alone."

"Wow, no kidding!" Selphie chuckled weakly. She dried her eyes once more.

Unlocking the metal clasps from his arms, Aren placed them back into his coat. "Selphie, I'm really sorry about that. Are you sure you're all right? You still look a little flustered."

"Oh, yeah," she said. "Yeah, it's okay, really...I was kinda crying already."

He raised a thin eyebrow behind his shades. "Really? What about? You wanna talk, or something?"

She shrugged, and smiled a little. "Oh, it's nothing...It's, well, I just..." She sighed again, and planted her elbows on her knees, covering her face with her hands. "I didn't get it. No money, no help...nothing..."

Nothing, thought Aren. But he shook the notion off, he hated it.

"Hey, don't worry!" he replied softly. "Maybe the headmaster was just busy. We'll schedule another meeting and try again."

"H-he won't...see me again..."

"Then _I'll _go see him! Or Irvine! Or if you wanted, we could get a petition going." He placed a hand on her shoulder. "One way or another, we're getting that money!"

"Y-you think?" she sniffed, and peeked up.

"I _know! _I know these things!"

A frigid breeze whooshed over them. Aren felt Selphie shiver. "Hey," he said. "Shouldn't you be dressed a little warmer?"

"I...kinda can't get into my room," she sighed. "My keycard keeps rejecting me."

"Aw, you've gotta be kidding me! This just isn't your day." Aren stood, and held out his metal-palmed hand. "You're in luck, I can pick locks."

"You _can?" _she took his hand, and jumped up.

"Sure, especially these electronic ones. Where's your room?"

"Level four, block fifty."

"Mm, quite a walk." Aren pointed across the courtyard. "My quarters are just down that hall. Can we stop there first? We'll get you a jacket and a cup of coffee, I can pick up a tool or two just in case, and we'll go from there."

"You're the boss! Wow, this is great!"

They left the spot, hand in hand. Through his black shades, Aren glanced down at his friend. She tried her hardest to stay cheery, but he could tell she was dead tired. He slowed down his walk so she could keep up. Selphie didn't seem to notice she was trailing.

They stopped at a solid metal door. Aren slid his keycard through, and it split open. His quarters were bigger than most, with a lounge area in front and separate bath, kitchen, and bedroom areas. The floor was littered with sheet music and pages of scribbled notes.

Aren swiped the papers off a small loveseat. "Sorry," he said. "No time to clean lately. Have a seat, I'll be right back."

Selphie plopped down and smiled, and he swung into the kitchen. Electronic devices covered the counter, and wires piled out of the sink. _Well, _he thought, _at least the kitchen's clean!_ He found a freshly-scrubbed cup, and filled it with some coffee from a brewing pot. _Oh, waitaminnit!_

Grabbing the wall and putting the mug down, he poked his head around the corner. "Hey Selphie," he called. "How'd you like your..."

Selphie was curled up on the sofa, fast asleep. Aren chuckled, stepped through the bedroom door, and came back with an armful of blankets. "You know what?" he whispered. "I think you oughtta get some sleep!" Unfolding one of the blankets, he spread it lightly over her. "Just don't snore, please! I don't care _how _quiet it is, it'd sound like a _freight train_ to me!"

~

__

Fzzzzttt!!

The crackle of electricity slowly woke Selphie. She yawned, and groggily sat up. "Ugh," she moaned, "another day, another get rejected by another Gar..._wha?"_

Quite disoriented, she glanced dizzily about the dimly-lit room. Aren stood up from his chair across the lounge, placing a soldering iron and his steel clasps on an end table. "Hey, it's me, Aren. You're still at my place, remember?"

"Oh! That's right!" She looked down at the blankets. "What happened, did I fall asleep on you? I'm really sorry..."

"That's all right, I took a little nap myself. We've still got some time, you can rest some more if you'd like."

Selphie stretched her arms and sat back. "Nah, I feel great! Guess a little goes a long way. What time is it?"

"Um..." Aren turned to a digital clock on the wall. "Five-thirty."

"In...the morning? Aw, I slept here all _night?"_

"What, something wrong?"

"No!" she said. "I just feel bad, that's all. Hope I didn't snore!"

Aren wiped his forehead. "Nah, nothing like that. You were fine. Can I get you anything?"

"Let's see...a cup of coffee, please?"

He arched his back, stretched, and brushed forward his long hair. "Coming right up. Cream or sugar?"

"A little cream. Sugar makes me jumpy...well, jumpier than usual!" She scanned over the room as he left for the kitchen. A pile of slightly wrinkled papers was pinned to the end table by the solder gun and long metal bracelets. She eyed the items curiously, hands folded on her blankets. And suddenly, she realized she had blankets.

"Hey Aren!"

"Yeah?" he called from the kitchen.

"Did you get me some blankets last night?"

"Uh-huh. Why, you still cold?"

"No, just fine!" she smiled. "Thank you."

Aren returned with two mugs of coffee. He set one in her hands, and took the other to his chair.

"Thanks!" said Selphie. She looked at the metal objects again. "Um, mind if I asked what that is?"

"Oh, this," Aren picked it up, and threw it to the sofa beside her. "I call them 'Patches,' I made them for battles. That one has a heal potion in it, and this one here has a Phoenix Down. They inject them into my blood, when I get knocked out or need a boost. If I can get them to _work,_ that is."

She picked up the device and giggled. "That is _so _cool!"

"Well, it levels the field a little, maybe enough for me to escape."

Selphie smiled, and sipped at the hot coffee. "Oh, Aren, I heard your song on the local station the other night!"

"No kidding!" said Aren. "Which one'd they play?"

"You've mixed more than one?"

He laughed lightly. "Oh, I don't mix, really. I play it."

"Wow, how cool! What instrument?"

Aren blew on his beverage. "All of them."

Selphie's jaw dropped to the floor, with a bit of an awed grin. "_All _of them?" she gawked, and planted her hands upon her hips. "You're kidding me."

"Nah," he shook his head. "It's not that hard. What'd they play?"

"_No _no no!" said Selphie, and raised her index finger. "Wait, I'm still stuck on this 'all of them' bit! So what're we talking here? Guitar? Bass?"

Aren beamed a shy smile, and set his cup down. "Okay, let's see..." he trailed, counting them off on his fingers. "Yeah, guitar and bass, of course. And...keyboards, drums, and I can program most sets of drumtrigger brains. Um, and drum machines, of course, and I run the soundboards for recording, and in a pinch, I suppose I could mix and scratch. Not my thing, though."

She fell back in her chair, and rubbed her forehead. "Whoa! You're, like, a _prodigy!"_

"Just got an ear for it, that's all. So what'd they play?"

Selphie took another sip of the coffee, and pulled up her blankets some. "They spun 'Fadeaway!' You redid the old Celldweller song, right? It sounded great, I recognized it right away!"

"No kidding!" said Aren, with raised eyebrows. "You listen to the old stuff?"

"Sure! Celldweller's one of my favorites! Let's see...you know of Rune-Seventy?"

Aren nodded astutely. "One of the best! Very good. But, how 'bout the Echoing Green?"

Selphie slapped her knee. "Oh man! Best electropop ever made! Okay, okay, my turn..." She laughed, and pulled on the curls of her brunette hair. "If I've gotta beat the Echoing Green, I'll have to go with...Ethereal!"

Aren stood and adjusted his glasses. "Sure, can't forget Ethereal. Wow, it's hard to find somebody who appreciates the oldschool these days."

"And it's harder to find people who _play_ it!" replied Selphie. "Can I listen to some of your other tracks?"

"Uhm, we'll see."

~

Aren motioned Selphie off the elevator first; she giggled at his politeness. The newly-buffed tile floor showed clear reflections of the two as they strolled down the hall. Metal doors lined the dull orange walls, striped with a wide white band down the center. Florescent lamps blinked brightly, and cast brilliant flashes off the shining floor.

Selphie shielded her eyes. "That is _so _annoying," she muttered. "That light was like that two _days_ ago, and they still haven't replaced it! Doesn't that bug you?"

Aren shook his head quietly.

A curious glance from Selphie. "Aren, is something wrong?"

"I answered you," he said, rather quickly. "The light doesn't bother me."

"O-oh...okay," whispered Selphie. She still watched him, with a cocked head. "Hey," she finally said with a smile. "I bet it wouldn't but me so bad...if I had some _shades!"_

She playfully jumped up, and snatched off Aren's black sunglasses. He tumbled backwards, and she ran down the hall with them. "Bet you can't catch me!" she called.

Aren covered his face with his metal-centered palms. "Selphie!" he shouted, "give me those!"

"You want 'em?" laughed Selphie. "Come _get _'em!"

He lowered his head. "Selphie, quit it. Give me the glasses."

"Hey, what's wrong?" she frowned, and began walking back.

"Now!" He let go with one hand, revealing a tightly-closed eye. "Throw them to me. Please."

She looked down at them, uncomfortably. "Uh...won't...they break?"

Aren left his arm outstretched. She finally obeyed, tossing them lightly. They fell short of his grasp by a few feet. Selphie took a breath to warn him, but Aren was in motion before she could speak. He jumped out with closed eyes, and caught the fragile shades in time.

Selphie looked on nervously as he fitted them back where they were. "Aren...I'm sorry," she stuttered. "I was just trying...I didn't know it would...that you would..."

"Don't do it again, please." Aren slowly stepped to her side.

Selphie looked around anxiously as they made their way down the hall. She inspected the tiles on the floor, bid hello to the trainee that passed them. But Aren was silent, and it made her more uncomfortable.

Irvine was waiting at Selphie's door. He waved as they approached, some small pieces of paper in his hand. "Hey Selphie! Got your message about the door! Get it open yet?"

"No," Selphie shook her head. "Not yet. Aren says he might be able to force it."

Aren nodded slightly to Irvine, as he and Selphie reached the door. He placed his hand lightly on the keyboard. A high-pitched squeal coarsed through the door. Selphie and Irvine winced and covered their ears, but Aren stood still. And with a sharp _crack_, the whole board fell off.

Aren tapped the entry button. The door hissed open. "There you go," he said, stepping to the side.

Selphie uncovered her ears. "Thanks," she said feintly.

He gave her a nod, and turned to walk off. But Irvine caught his shoulder. "Hey, lookie what I got!" He held out three rectangular tickets.

"Hey, great," said Aren. "When do we leave?"

Selphie looked to Irvine. "Leave?" she asked quietly.

"This afternoon!" laughed Irvine.

"What?" Aren huffed. "We can't go this afternoon! It's gonna take me all day just to get my files together!"

Irvine shrugged. "Best I could do. Take it or leave it."

Aren gave a nod, and once again started down the hall. "Okay, I'll go get started now, then. Don't forget to invite Selphie!"

As he disappeared down the long hallway, Selphie turned to Irvine, and smiled. "Wanna tell me what's goin' on?" she asked, "or do I even wanna know?"

Irvine smiled, and slapped her on the back. "We're goin' to Trabia, beautiful!"

~


	6. Train

~

] Headmaster's Office

] Galbadia Garden

] Galbadia

Headmaster Rade leaned over his long wooden desk, his attention turned toward a small metal-framed monitor that sat angled toward him. His darkly-tanned skin was damp with a few beads of sweat. The black, tassle-ended suit he wore was unbuttoned, and his tie hung loosely from an open collar. Dispite it being free, Rade pulled at it angrily.

"Something's definately going on," he muttered. "Less than a week ago, the Tilmitt girl shows up, asking for money to support Trabia. I kick her out, of course, but then I have the supervisors go through a diagnostics check of the database, and we find out that the Trabia Stratagem file has been accessed, and saved somewhere in the Garden!"

On the monitor, an audio equalizer showed, and a deep voice permeated from the dual speakers that sat beside the metal frame. "Any idea why they want the information?"

"Who _cares?!"_ screamed Rade. "They could blackmail me for everything I own, and _then _throw me in jail...I...I could be _executed_ for this!" He slammed his palms against the table, and stared at the monitor. "I won't have it! None of the Stratagem was my fault! I had _nothing _to do with it, and I'm not going to let a little girl put the blame on _me!"_

"I've got my men working on profiles right now," said the voice. "The girl was from Balamb Garden, but it says she's on leave for some kind of Trabia-restoration project."

Rade scoffed. "Unlikely! She knows what she's doing, I assure you." He pulled a cushy leather chair to the desk, and fell backwards into it. "Now, she left just yesterday, she's no longer in Galbadia."

"Was she traveling with anyone?" the voice asked.

"We can't confirm that. But we do know that she's on her way back to Trabia, and the only train tickets to Trabia in the last week month were a set of three, purchased by a one Irvine Kinneas. He's a resident SeeD here at Galbadia, and a friend of Tilmitt's."

"Got it. Anything else?"

"Yes. Kinneas just returned from a trip to Terra Garden. He was called to pick up a transfer, a gentleman by the name of Aren Bowes. I've got nothing on Bowes, but he might be somehow involved."

The voice took a moment to respond. "Nothing on this end, but we'll find something, don't worry."

"Get whatever you can," said Rade. "And get to Trabia, and put an end to this before the whole Garden gets shut down!"

~

] Level 3, Headmaster's Office

] Balamb Garden

] Balamb

Quistis Trepe leaned against the wall, alone in Balamb Garden's main elevator. The golden-yellow bulbs cast a strange glow on her fair skin, and the polished black boots that seemed to cover her entire legs. Her sleeveless red dress was perfectly clean and tailored; it seemed not a single strand was out of place. Her arms, covered in shining black gloves that stretched to her shoulders, were folded loosely.

She let her head fall back to the steel, and stared with thin eyes at the grated ceiling. A few strands of blonde hair fell to her eyes. She quickly brushed them back, into a carefully-tightened bun. And she sighed, and smiled a bit, as she realized that she had not changed one bit.

Everything about the Garden seemed to bring back memories now. Even the elevator held its own stories.It was this elevator that Quistis and her favorite trainee had ridden, on the day he earned his very first Guardian Force. It was this elevator that she took to the once-unknown Master's Chamber of the Garden, where she and her friends had met with and defeated the Garden Master. Yes, even the elevator hit her with a bittersweet nostalgia.

She tightened her eyes. Nostalgia? She was sure it was only she, of her famous peers, that even experienced it. She was the only member of the team that had actually stayed at Balamb, and was still a full-fledged member. Everyone else had moved on; had gotten on with their lives. Quistis had contacted many of them, and had kept in touch with one or two. But they were gone, off to meet new people, and experience new adventures.

And Quistis was still at Balamb, still Instructor Trepe. Still riding the same elevator to the same rooms every day, and daydreaming about the good-old-days...

Was it really gone? Was it all over? It was something she constantly wondered. In her mind, the past year had been the best of her life. But amazing as it was, it was only one year. And she was still only nineteen. Yet she alrady felt so dead-ended. What event, what companion or adventure, could possibly compare to the epic journey of last year?

All she knew was that _anything_ was better than now. She had nothing now.

The elevator door hissed open, and she stepped into the headmaster's office. A wide room, but not very deep, it was quite humble for the office of a headmaster. Marble-lined walls were present at her left and right. Before her, and only a short distance away, was a round oak table, and behind the table, a high glass wall embroidered with an exotic Balamb design.

Headmaster Cid sat behind the desk. He was a short, middle aged man, with brown hair that he combed neatly to one side. A red sweater and khaki pants were his dress; rather casual for a headmaster. He looked quickly up from a handful of papers, and smiled warmly to Quistis.

"Quistis! Come in!" he called her. "Pull up a chair."

Trepe stepped out of the elevator, and snapped to full attention. She gave a razor-sharp SeeD salute, palm before her face, and just as quickly shot her arm back to her side. But formalities aside, she smiled back. "You called for me, sir?" she asked, pulling a chair from the table, and seating herself.

"Yes, that I did," replied Cid. "Quistis, I'm going to let you make the call on this one. I trust your opinion. So answer me truthfully, and don't be afraid to speak your mind."

__

I wonder what this is all about? Quistis thought. She nodded. "I won't, sir."

The headmaster set down his papers. "I recieved a cable call today, from Garden Defense and Security. It seems there's a problem in Galbadia Garden; a member from Balamb has tapped the Galbadia database, and is planning to use the information for blackmail."

"A _Balamb _SeeD?" asked Quistis, rubbing her chin. "Who from Balamb could possibly have gotten so far away from our Garden?"

Cid shrugged. "We're not sure, and GDS won't tell us who the member is. But we're running a search, and we should know by tomorrow. But, here's the tricky part, Quistis..."

The headmaster paused. Quistis watched him, as he looked down at his papers. _Why's he stalling? _she wondered. _And what can I do?"_

"Quistis," said Cid, "GDS wants Balamb's best SeeD to track down the hacker, and make the apprehension. They chose you, and they want you to go alone."

Alone? I can't go by myself!

"Keep in mind, also," the headmaster continued, "that the hacker may be someone you know. It may be hard to arrest a friend."

I...I'm not strong enough! I can't carry out something like this! Especially not alone!

"But I've got full faith in you. And I wouldn't feel right asking anyone but you." Headmaster Cid waited for a response from Quistis, but it did not come, so he continued. "I've heard you've been trying the Wax Potion for your Guardian Force. How does it work?"

Awful! she thought. _I get a pounding headache for days, and it still doesn't guarantee anything! I could still lose my memory...and that's about all I have right now._

"I suppose it's working," Quistis nodded. "I haven't experienced any...serious side-effects."

"Well, that's good news! I remember how much you wanted to keep that GF of yours..."

He's buying time. He wants an answer. Quistis heaved a sigh in her mind, but outwardly, she barely blinked. "Sir," she said. "If you are confident that I can carry out a mission alone, then I suppose I can. I'll take the mission, sir."

Cid nodded. "I wish I could give you some time to think about this one. But the GDS is putting the plan in motion tonight. Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

No! she screamed inside. But she said, "yes, sir."

"Very good. I suppose I'll waste no time in briefing you." He handed her the small stack of papers that he had been riffling through. "Here is everything you'll need for phase one of your mission. GDS has told us that the hacker is taking a train tonight bound for Trabia. We're going to get you on that train. We'll send you to an intercept station in an unmarked car."

Quistis felt ready to explode. _Why'd I do this? I'll die! I can't fight by myself, I haven't had enough practice! I haven't summoned Ifrit in ages! Oh, there's a million reasons why this is the worst thing for me right now!_

"Now, before you board, a GDS representative will hand you a packet with the hacker's information, and a picture, if possible. You will have twelve hours to find and apprehend him, or her, before the train stops at Trabia."

She gazed beyond her headmaster, out his beautiful faceted window. Clouds whisked across the sky in patches of hazy white. A flock of birds fluttered past, and a few perched at the window's base. The same sky she'd been gazing at for a year now.

Maybe this is just what I need, she thought.

~

] Outdoor boarding area

] Train Station

] Balamb

Aren, Selphie and Irvine sat on a long parkbench, awaiting the arrival of the Trabia train. The station was well-kept, but nearly empty. The entire station, in fact, had been closed for the night, and the tracks were switched so that this last train could stop at the station's outdoor boarding area. A few streetlamps, hanging over the tracks, provided brightness in the growing dusk. Big, leafy trees spotted the land around the rails. Computer screens, attached to either end of the bench, were unplugged. Speakers were mounted on each of the streetlights, but none played any music.

Aren stood, and stretched. "I need some coffee," he yawned. "Anybody want something from the vending machine while I'm up?"

"Nah," Irvine shook his head. "I'm stayin' away from that stuff, I'll wait 'till I get on the train."

Selphie smiled brightly. "No thank you!" she said politely.

"More for me," Aren said, and headed down the brick wall of the train station to a few hundred feet down, where a few vending machines lay waiting for him.

Irvine wrapped his arm around Selphie, and gave her a squeeze. "Like, isn't this great?" he said with a smile. "Brings back memories, don't it?"

"Yeah, sure does!" said Selphie. "Like that first time we rode a train together...you hit on me mercilessly!"

Irvine dropped his arm, and raised an eyebrow. "Hey, I wasn't _that _bad!"

"You were _awful!" _she laughed. "But you were just bein' Irvine, so I can't really complain."

He thinned his eyes a bit, and looked out over the tracks, nodding his head. But he quickly smiled.

They sat together in silence for a time. But Irvine spoke once more. "I didn't really _bug _you, or anything, did I?"

Selphie giggled. "Well, a _little!_ I mean, you were _cute_ an' all...but, you just didn't know when to let up! Kinda made me feel uncomfortable. I just...well, I just wasn't used to you yet!"

"And you're used to it now," nodded Irvine, and he closed his eyes.

"Sure am!" she nudged his shoulder. "I know _just _what to expect!"

Selphie glanced up, and noticed the solemn expression on his face, and the hat pulled down over his eyes. "Hey...is something wrong?" she asked.

Irvine cocked back his head. "Nah, just tired. Can't wait 'til we get on this train, it's freezing out here."

The pierce of shattering glass made them both jump from the bench. A few yards down, Aren stood beside a vending machine, with its front panel missing, and shards of glass spread about the ground. He cradled one hand in the other. Painful mumbles growled from his mouth, as he kicked the machine hard, and began returning to Irvine and Selphie.

"Whoa, man!" laughed Irvine. "Didn't feel like paying, or what?"

Aren sat beside Selphie, and gave Irvine a narrow eye. "Shut up."

He carefully inspected the cradled hand, and Selphie snuck a look over his shoulder. Bloody cuts ran down his palm. He cringed and tried at picking a few pieces of glass from the wounds.

"Oh, _gosh!" _Selphie gasped, "what happened?"

Aren sighed. "I touched the glass. Guess I sent a wave through it. I'm fine."

Irvine leaned forward, and had a look himself. "Ouch. Selphie, you got a Potion?"

Selphie nodded, and reached under the long bench, dragging out a big blue duffel bag. She unzipped it, and dug in, and came out with a small vile. It was cone-shaped, and clear, about the size of her small palm. Inside flowed a shining red liquid.

"May...I help?" she asked, as she pulled a small rag from her luggage as well.

Aren rolled up the sleeve of his black, tough-fabric coat, and tapped at the metal clasp over his arm. "Guess it still doesn't work," he sighed, and took a handkerchief from inside the coat. "Don't worry 'bout it, you hold onto that. Never know when you'll need it."

"But, it'd only take a _little..._right, Irv--" Selphie turned to address Irvine, but he was gone from the seat, walking briskly toward the vending machines. "Oh..."

"It should be okay," winced Aren, pulling the last piece of glass from his hand, and dabbing at it with the handkerchief. It sopped up the blood eagerly, but the pressure did little to slow the loss. "Umh...wow..." he breathed. "Ah, they're a little...deeper than I thought..."

Selphie gasped at the loss of blood. "Aren, that's _serious! _Here, let me help, please!"

She uncorked the vile, and poured the Potion's contents onto her rag. Aren removed the bloody bandage from his hand. Selphie gently pressed her cloth to the wound, and she held it carefully in its place. A glance up, and she noticed the face of her friend. Behind the strands of his long hair, his black sunglasses peered down at his hand, with a calm visage. It surprised her to no end. A wound like this would have made her hysterical. But Aren did not shed a tear, he did not seem distraught by the gore.

"You're awful brave," she smiled to him, with a trace of nervousness, and more than a little distress at the sight of the wound.

He widened his thin lips into a smile. Was he looking at her? She could not tell, not with the glasses in the way. They hid so much from her, they made her furious. If there was something Selphie required, it was eye contact. The eyes said so much to her, and those sunglasses said nothing.

"I think it's done," Aren said quietly.

"Hmm? _Oh! _Of course!" Selphie giggled, and gently pulled the rag away. Aren's palm, with it's metal center, was restored, its flesh mended together perfectly.

"Thanks," said Aren, as he lifted his head, and smiled. But were his eyes smiling as well?

~

Irvine passed the vending machines, his black boots crunching the blood-laced glass. His eyes were tight slits of concentration. He pulled the black cowboy hat over his eyes, and leaned casually on the wall. A dark alley was inches from him.

I know you're here somewhere, he thought. _A sharpshooter knows when he's being watched. And I'm almost sure I saw you. Still in the alley? We'll find out._

He reached into his long trench coat, and carefully unstrapped a double-barrel shotgun. With a sudden flash he leapt forward and spun, landing before the entrance to the alley, and raising the firearm. The stock butted against his leather-coated shoulder, and the barrels were at eye level, in a motion that had become all but second nature to him. He sneered and slid his finger through the trigger.

But to his surprise, the alley was only a few feet deep. Another brick wall, merely offset back, greeted him coldly.

"Hmm," he lowered his gun, and raised a lip. The wall was nearly twenty feet tall; there was no way a watcher could have jumped to the roof. And even so, the roof was a steep dome, a tough climb and completely visible to Irvine.

He glanced his eyes back and forth, and slowly reholstered his shotgun. _Must've been my imagination,_ he thought.

A deafening whistle sounded, and the hiss of smoke slid around his boots. He turned to see the Trabia train, just arriving into the lonely station. Its locomotive was tall and proud, a shining black bullet free of sut and dust, save perhaps the wheels that were hissed with the steam of airbrakes. Swooshing curves ran down the sides of the majestic train in Balamb's trademark design. As it crawled to a stop, it brought into light a long line of fancy train cars behind it.

Irvine left the alley and returned to the bench, under which his black travel bag was carelessly shoved. Aren and Selphie were slinging their packs over their shoulders.

Aren scratched his long hair with his once-wounded hand. "Hey, it's a Balamb train! We should be okay, eh?"

"Best trains ever made!" giggled Selphie excitedly. "Can't wait!"

"_I _sure can," sighed Aren.

Irvine thumbed his gloved hand at Aren, and raised an eyebrow. "Took that Potion, I see," he smiled.

He shrugged, and nudged Selphie with his elbow. "Why not? She's a pretty persuasive gal. Where'd you go off to?"

"Ahm, nevermind," said Irvine. He took another look to the alley. "Not important. Let's check out our rooms, eh?"

Selphie leapt high into the air. "All-_right!" _she shouted. "This is gonna be _great!"_

Aren rolled his eyes. "Wish I had those earmuffs right about now..."

They passed the proud locomotive, stepping through the steam of still-releasing airbrakes, and watched as a thin door slid open on the first of the wide passenger cars. A thin, gangly-looking conductor stepped out, dressed in a carefully-pressed blue suit and a funny looking black cap. He smiled his bony face, and tipped the hat to them as they approached. "Hello, folks!" he said warmly. "Glad to have you aboard! Tickets, please?"

Irvine let his friends ahead of him. He shuffled through his pocket and finally found a small yellow train ticket. As he slid it from his coat, he took one last glance back. Something still didn't feel right. But who was he to know, after being on leave for so long? He'd gotten rusty, he supposed. Maybe just a little jumpy.

But still, he contemplated. _I know when I'm being watched._

He tried letting the notion escape him. Aren was already helping Selphie up the steep steps to the train car, and the conductor waited patiently for Irvine to show his ticket. Irvine gladly obliged.

"Thank you!" said the conductor, humorously cheery for how late it must have been. "You have a nice ride, now! We'll be in Trabia by tomorrow night."

Aren stumbled back, and gasped, turning to the conductor. "I thought this ride was, like, two _hours!"_

"Not anymore!" the conductor laughed. "The original track's overrun with monsters! But don't you fret, we take another route now. It's kinda the long way around, cause we already had to stop at Balamb, and now we've gotta go all the way around Seven Springs, but it's much safer this way."

Selphie pulled at Aren's arm. "Come on!" she prodded. "It'll be fun!"

"Ah well," sighed Aren, and he lightly shoved Selphie up the stairs on his way up. "No rest for poor Aren tonight!"

Irvine grasped the handrail and pulled himself into the car behind them. "We'll find somebody to _cast _Sleep on you," he laughed, "how's that?"

~

Quistis sat, marveling at her living quarters. The walls were royally papered with a light crimson, and lined with gold-painted crown molding and chair rail. A plush sofa stretched along one far corner of the room, and along the other, a large bunkbed was ready for two. A stained wood dresser would have held many articles of clothing, but since she had but one travel bag, she merely set it on top.

She kicked at the fuzzy carpet. The room was nice, but it was mostly empty. _This sure would have been better if...well, if someone else was here!_ She sighed, and fell back on the sofa. _I remember the train rides we took...now that I think about it, those weren't really that fun, either...but at least we were together._

Aw, there you go again! She growled, and snapped upright. _What can I do about it? I had a chance, I missed my chance, and I suppose that's that. Here I am, all alone on a train with a professional hacker, and I've gotta catch him before tomorrow night. This is now. I don't like it...guess I never liked the here and now...but it's what I've got. Might as well get started._

With a swipe of her hand, she flipped up a tan-colored folder marked with her name. "Okay, hacker, what do you look like?" she muttered to herself, and tore the envelope open.

I sure hope I don't know you. Not that I've got many friends...but still, it'd be strange arresting someone from Balamb. I suppose they deserve it, though.

Her leather-gloved hand reached into the folder. It grabbed hold of a few sheets of paper, neatly stacked and paperclipped together. As Quistis pulled them out, she felt the overwhelming pangs of shock slam her from all sides.

A Balamb identification picture, dated 4 month 370, was taped to the top right of the first page. An old friend of hers, Selphie Tilmitt, smiled cheerily from the image.

She nearly dropped the folder. "Selphie? _Selphie?!"_ she quickly freed the papers from the folder, and pulled the stack to her face. "_Selphie Tilmitt!!"_ she read, shaking her head in disbelief, "former Balamb Garden SeeD, currently a traveling SeeD..."

"But...but..." Quistis wiped her forehead. "But Selphie would _never _do that! She probably couldn't figure it _out _either...but that's beside the point! She wouldn't have the heart! She's always thinking of others...I mean, she's been begging for funding for Trabia since we..."

Another feeling ran over her. But this time, one of disappointment. Trabia. Funding. Blackmail. And a desparate young woman with a heart of gold, doing whatever possible to make a difference.

Quistis fell back on the couch. "Oh, _Hyne! _Selphie, what are you _doing?!"_

Once again she brought the paper before her, perhaps hoping, somehow, that there might be someone else's face on that picture. But poor Selphie still grinned at her old friend.

~

"_Heeey_, would you _look _at this place!"

Selphie ran happily into the beautiful and spacious quarters. Light red paper adorned the walls, and was split by moldings painted in gold. She tore across the fuzzy carpet, and leapt into the sofa that traveled around the far corner. "This is gonna be _great!"_ she laughed.

Aren entered the room after Irvine, and turned to the door, punching in a code that made it hiss shut. "I take it she's a train person," he laughed to Irvine.

"I'd say so," replied Irvine, tossing his bag on the lower bunk. "Boy, this is the way to _go! _I'm surprised how cheap the tickets were."

Aren plopped to the sofa besides Selphie. "You know," he nodded, "I could get used to this."

~

Quistis lay on her stomach, the papers spread before her on the carpet. She had just read the exact details of her mission. These individuals were to be prevented from reaching Trabia at all costs. If deadly force was necessary, it was sanctioned. And the papers still smiled at her, Selphie's innocent grin on the left, and now Irvine's coy smile on the right. Each of those pages contained information on her new enemies, including their birth dates, training, and their weak and strong points in battle. They were more than simple SeeD backgrounds; these pages were Irvine and Selphie's new criminal records. 

A broken heart and a thousand questions plagued Quistis as she began to read a third identification page, on someone she did not recognize. His face was pale, his jaw angular. Long black hair rested at his shoulders, and hung over his forehead in wild strands. At either side of a sharp nose were the strangest set of sunglasses he'd ever seen. Not connected in the middle, they were a set of black bubbles that looked to be attached to his face, and completely covered both eyes. His thin mouth was not smiling.

"Bowes, Aren," she read quietly. "Weight, one-ninety...hair, black...eyes, _not applicable? _That's odd..."

A sense of wonder began replacing the disappointment, as she continued. "Bowes was born in Dollet, where an accident caused the loss of his sight. By some unknown circumstance, however, he is not blind. He is currently a SeeD for Trabia Garden. Bowes is not junctioned to a Guardian Force. He attacks by the manipulation of sound waves, which compare to level-three timespace magic..."

Quistis jumped to her feet, shoving her finger at the page. "Psychoanalysis of subject's life concludes possible mental scars and short temper! Bowes should be approached with extreme caution; he is very dangerous! So, it might be this _Bowes_ guy running the whole thing, and Selphie and Irvine could be pressured _accomplices!"_

"Strong to physical attacks of any sort," she continued. "Extremely weak to non-elemental, timespace type magic."

Carefully and quickly, she scooped up the papers. "It's the only explanation that makes sense! If I can just find Selphie or Irvine before this Bowes character, I'll know for sure." From the bed, she scooped up a long, coiled whip, made from chains. It locked tightly to a clasp on the leather belt that hung from her waist. And with a new, and perhaps feeble determination, she headed for the metal door to her room.

~


	7. Welcome Aboard

a/n: Special props to my computer, for deciding not to randomly restart every 5 seconds during the writing of this chapter! And to reviewers, thank you *so* much, rock on!!

~

Aren stepped out from his room's doorway. The noise was considerably louder in the outer hallways. It pounded viciously into his head, but he payed little attention. Quick and cold air whipped at him from the far wall of the train, which consisted of a four-foot high part of steel, and a tinted glass window for the rest. This extended from one end of the car to the other, and most of the windows were slid open. The cold pierced at Aren like a knife of ice; he knew the cold as much as the darkness, and hated it equally. 

And the wind pressed long hair against his forehead. It sat unevenly at a spot near the center. He sneered, and pulled his skullcap down. The light whipping of hair he akinned to the trickle of blood. but then, he was paranoid of the blood. He needed to get over it, he thought. Just live with it. Because he did not dare brush the hair away.

"I'll figure it out!" he called, "go ahead, shut the door. I can't believe we can't get this thing to lock."

Irvine and Selphie returned distantly. "Okay!"

The metal door swished quickly shut, and Aren leapt back to avoid catching his arm in its way. "Whoa, watch it!" he laughed, and examined the block of metal that stood before him. In its center was a keypad, with a long calculator-like display above it, a rather primitive liquid matrix model. He groaned angrily. "Oh great, one of these."

He slowly brought his hand to the keypad. No waves, he thought. Can't screw this up, no waves. The flesh about his shaded eyes tightened, and his lips thinned, as he concentrated hard. Gently he pressed at the keys, and entered the code to lock the door. 

The metal-palmed hand drew back, and Aren sighed. "Okay!" he called. "Try it now!"

With a metal swoosh, the door swung into its sheath in the wall, and almost took his arm for a ride once more. But he pulled it quickly away. Selphie stood in the doorway, smiling cheerily, and she waved with bright eyes. "Hello!"

"Hi there!" smiled Aren. "I'm breaking into your room! Does your door lock?"

With sweeping arms, Selphie presented the sheathed door. "Why no, it doesn't!"

From down the car, the two of them heard a distant, and very peeved call from a gruff-sounding gentleman. It was a call that seemed to addressed them both.

"Will you shut up down there?!"

Selphie giggled quietly. "Um...I'll close the door now!"

"Good idea," nodded Aren, and the block of metal swooshed shut. Aren reached his cold fingers behind glasses, and rubbed his eyes. He tried hard to focus on the little screen above the keypad. But in the rectangle, he saw a spectrum of brilliant colors. No numbers, only colors.

Hyne, come on. He stared longer. But as he gazed, the colors began to leak from the rectangle. They flashed, and enveloped his vision, and instantly it was all he saw.

"Gaah!" he doubled back, hands over his face. As he slid across the floor, he felt a hard collision to his back. And above the deafening sound of the train's mechanical droll, he heard a female shout, and a sharp thud to the hard floor.

Aren quickly snapped his eyes back open. The colors had disappeared; his sight was true once more. But beside him now lay a young lady, sprawled on the floor. She was tall and thin, and blonde-haired, and wore a dark red dress without sleeves. Shiny black boots and gloves adorned her, and from a loose belt hung a whip made of chains.

"Oh, excuse me!" Aren apologized, and hopped to his feet. He reached a hand down to the fallen woman.

She gathered herself, and took the hand, nodding without looking. "Thank you, it's quite all right...I suppose it's dark in here, and..."

A quick glance up led to a sharp gasp, and the woman jumped away. "Halt where you are!" she sneered, "I am a representative from Garden, and you are under arrest! Do not try to evade me; I am sanctioned to use deadly force!"

Aren cocked his head. "Eh, say what?" he shrugged, and turned to his door. "If...you're joking, I'm sorry, but I don't get it."

The crack of a metal blade landed inches before his boot, followed by a metallic snap. The woman flicked her wrist, and brought the whip back into a coil. "I said halt!" she pointed with a black glove. "Are you Aren Bowes?"

"What Garden wants to know?" Aren's eyebrow raised. He slowly reached to his black hooded coat.

The whip struck him hard in the chest. Two metal clasps fell from his jacket. He stumbled away with the blow, and the sharpened point ran toward his neck in a deadly swipe. But Aren grasped the chain, yanked it safely away, and gave a powerful tug on his end of the whip. The woman flung forward off her feet toward him.

He held his forearm out, across his chest, and she collided bluntly but painlessly. "Give me that!" growled Aren, annoyed, and he grasped her wrist.

A rush of wind, and a moment's worth of vertigo, and he felt himself flipped against the cold ground. The attacker was upon him instantly, and the whip of chains was wrapped around his neck. The woman's eyes were tight behind her set of thin glasses. "Do not resist arrest!"

Aren was immensely confused, and a little sore. He glanced to his chest; his shirt was sliced up and down, but he bled only slightly. He sighed, and shook his head. "Listen, I really didn't mean to knock you over, okay? But you don't have to go and flip me over it, all right? We're even."

As he brought his arms to the chains, he recieved a hard kick to the side. It stung, more than flat-out hurt, but it peeved him all the more. "That's it," he grumbled.

With a fluid twist of his leg, he swept the woman's feet away, and she fell. Aren felt the chains loosen; he slid them quickly off. He rolled away from the spot and stood, grabbing the clasps from the ground. A barrage of whip strikes came his way. Weaving and dodging, he avoided most, but a few struck with painful snaps.

"I'm warning you, stop it!" he yelled at her.

"And I'm warning you," she replied, "to stand down!"

Aren spun away from a cracking whip. "I'm not gonna stand down if you're trying to beat me down!" He lunged forward, and landed a punch to her shoulder. Though he held himself back, he felt her buckle away under the blow. The woman slammed her back to the glass, and stumbled shakily forward, but instantly returned all the faster with more strikes of the whip.

The blade at the whip's end was becoming harder and harder to keep track of. What am I gonna do, punch her in the face? he thought, feeling the sharp steel scrape his arm as he ducked back. She doesn't sound drunk, she's talking way too eloquently, and she's deadly with that whip...but I can't just...

Aren felt ice cold steel strike his forehead. It dashed through his skullcap, and cut his flesh, and he felt himself fall backward. Darkness returned. He remembered the metal, the ice protruding from his head, the hell of pain that was his separated flesh. And he felt the blood, the trickle that ran down from the wound, and split directions at his nose, and dripped over his mouth. He smelled the sharp scent, the saline and sweat that had mixed with the blood on the day the darkness came.

Sight returned, clouded in red. The woman's whip was coiled in her arm, and the blade at the end was dripping with Aren's blood. She was no longer stanced to strike him, and her eyes were not the thin slits they once were. Now they were wide and dilated, and she stood straight up, and the black glove on her hand was against her gasping lips.

The blood flowed, and he shook at the feeling. The darkness came with the blood.

His palms vibrated and glowed; and he felt an energy building. Building and drawing from around him, from everything, the air and the walls, and even the woman who attacked him. It drew as she watched, and stepped back in shock. And Aren's bloody view was tight with rage, as he raised his glowing arms, white electricity and a droll hum coarsing around him.

A blur of flowing cloth stepped in his way, and he heard Irvine's voice call him. "Aren, hold it! Don't wave her, buddy! She didn't know!"

The hum grew louder, the blood thicker. "Get out of the way!" Aren breathed.

"Aren, she's my friend! It was a mistake, man. Can you let that wave go, just for a second? We'll get this whole thing figured out."

He inhaled to respond; blood dripped into his open mouth. Aren spat it away in a frenzy. "Move!"

The nothing returned, a nothing of blood red. It stung at his hidden eyes, and he blinked it away, but nothing returned with each attempt. The energy was immense; he could barely keep it about his shaking arms. And he tightened his fists, and it began a focus toward his steel palms.

A quiet voice kept the energy at bay.

"Aren? I dunno what's going on, but...could you...relax? I've got another Potion, and we'll get you all healed up, okay?"

He felt the rage subside. "Selphie? Where are you?" he coughed.

"I'm right here, in front of you."

He gasped blood. "Move!"

She replied, in determination that chilled him. "...No. Not 'till you calm down."

I can't! he thought in panic. I can't lose a wave this big!

But he must try, he knew he must at least try. He could not explain the danger of the waves to Selphie, he had no time. He felt the wavecores at his palms, surging to release themselves, and any second they could leave his grasp. So he focused hard, and felt his ears ring, and his head pound with pressure. He slowly lowered his arms, palms still shaking with immeasurable energy.

With a dissipating hiss, he felt the energy break apart, and flow from his arms. A high scream rang through the air, the sound of concentrated sound being returned to the atmosphere in a grinding clap, and he knew he had done it. The cores were gone. He felt their pressure and weight fade. And he sighed hard, and crumpled to the uninviting ground.

The blood was still running. Still tormenting him. He could not muster the rage, the determination to combat it. And he could not cry. His tears had been gone for an eternity. So he lay face down, drained and beaten, in a pool of his tormentor, and let the blood cover his face.

But he heard Selphie's quiet voice, and a gentle grasp across his back, that lifted him away from the blood. And without rage or tears, he felt some reassurance.

~


	8. Group Hug!

~

Quistis stood uncomfortably in the chilly hall. Her old friends were before her, standing rather quizzically. Irvine's cutoff-gloves were tight against his hips. The stranger named Aren stood powerfully beside him, his shirt sliced down the middle, and his wounds healed. His black shades, peeking from frazzled black hair, seemed affixed angrily to her eyes. And Selphie stood against him, her arms wrapped about his waist.

Irvine was the first to speak, although it was rather hesitant. "Like...hey, Quistis."

She gave a feeble wave. "Hello, everyone," she whispered anxiously.

Selphie's eyes wandered here and there. "So...how ya been?" she almost-whined.

"Uhm...fine, fine. Yourselves?"

Irvine nodded. "Great! Just fine..."

"Oh, good..." Selphie trailed.

She nodded and nervously smiled to them, then turned to the sharp glass that stared her down. Bowes said nothing. But his tight scowl thinned some, and she thought she'd noticed him tense, and almost lean forward to her. But Selphie tugged him back.

"I'm...afraid this has gotten rather akward," Quistis said feebly.

"I'll say," Irvine said, with a solemn face. She had never remembered him with a solemn face.

__

I suppose I should continue now, she thought. _We might as well get this over with._ And she took a deep breath, and breathed out the words twice as heavily.

"And I suppose you know why I've acted the way I did. I've been sent from Garden Defense and Security, to arrest you for the crime you've all committed."

Selphie raised a thin eyebrow to her. "A crime? We've committed a crime?"

"Um, Quistis, babe..." Irvine shrugged, "us? Come on!"

Accomplices, thought Quistis, _I knew it! Bowes must have dragged them along._

For the first time since the battle, save a few quiet mumblings to Selphie as she had healed him, Bowes spoke up. His voice was hoarse and tight, and understandably so, for the wound's pain would linger for some time. But his face was beginning to relax, and Quistis suddenly felt less watched by the young man.

"If you please, ma'am," he said, in a strangely polite manner. "Would you recite my charge? I'd like to know what I'm accused of."

She nodded to him, and responded rather formally: "You, Aren Bowes, are under accusation by Galbadia Garden, and the world Garden network, for the crimes as follows. Number one, accessing of restricted material that was securely stored in Galbadia Garden's database. Number two, suspicion of using said information in a scheme of blackmail against said Garden."

Irvine slapped his face hard. "Quistis, you've got this _all _mixed up! Aren didn't..."

"What's she talking about, Aren?" asked Selphie, looking to Bowes.

But Bowes raised a hand to quiet Irvine, and patted Selphie on the shoulder. He raised his eyebrows to Quistis. "By law," he said, "I'm permitted to plead my case prior to arrest, if I believe my charges are in violation of the law itself. Correct?"

Quistis thought for a moment. _I suppose he has a point. _She nodded slightly. "Correct."

"Okay, now, lemme think here..."

He snapped his fingers. "Ah! Lemme throw this in. First of all, since you've only got _suspicion_ of an attempt to blackmail Garden, you can't hold it against me. You can't arrest on grounds of suspicion unless I'm _in _the Garden. And second, since the information I allegedly gathered is confidential to Galbadia Garden, GDS's involvement with the case isn't allowed. You couldn't arrest me if you wanted to."

And the tension between the two began to loosen, but a wave of confusion was brought on, as Aren cracked a little smile. "Ma'am, would you mind explaining this all to me? I've got _no _idea what's going on!"

__

Hyne, he's right! thought Quistis, almost staggering back. _I can't arrest any of them! But...if GDS knew that, why'd they send me here?_

She stuttered to find something to reply. "Ahm...I'm afraid...at the moment, I am a bit confused myself."

Dispite the confusion and a lingering tension, Irvine stepped forth. "You know what? I bet after a cup of espresso and a little explainin', we'd have this whole _thing _behind us! You take care of your side, we'll do ours."

"I like espresso!" said Aren with a smile.

Quistis tightened her eyes. "I am on a _mission!"_

"Oh, come _on!" _waved Irvine.

She was speechless. _Well...what else can I do? Certainly not arrest them!"_ And with a sigh and a shrug, she said, "why not?"

~

Aren sat beside Selphie on the plush sofa, and motioned to Irvine and the strange woman, who had spots on the floor. The newcomer was upright and uptight, seated cross-legged with her coffee cup clenched in both hands. But Irvine was sprawled on his stomach, with his elbows resting in a pillow from one of the beds, and propping up his chin with his hands.

"It started about a year ago," said Aren, sipping at his cup of espresso. "I was studying soundwaves and their timespace relations in Terra. My instructor chose the project of mapping the sound distortion from the missles that traveled from Galbadia to Trabia."

He felt Selphie sink into her chair a little, and utter a small sigh. He considered stopping. But it would be unfair to the others, and so he bit his lip and continued.

"But as I was working the problem, I found a glitch in my calculations. It seemed that if the missles were launched from Galbadia, with the trajectory, fuel supply and speed common to the Galbadian army's missles, they couldn't have made it all the way to Trabia."

He scratched the back of his head, brushing forward his long hair. So I made a little project for myself. A hobby, really. I called it 'Trabia Stratagem,' and I'd been out to find out what was behind my missed figure."

The stranger set her cup down. Her eyes were intent, if a little skeptical.

"But a couple of days ago," he went on, "I tried opening the file to do a little work, and instead it opened one from Galbadia Garden's database. It was a similar program to mine, had all the figures I had, only it was a lot more detailed. There were models of everything...even a three-dimensional rendering of a missle. But the Garden had started working on the project right after the missles had hit. And it seemed as if they'd stopped work a couple of weeks after then. They never finished it."

Selphie rubbed her small chin. "Wow...what's it mean?" she asked.

Aren sat back. "Dunno. But my best guess is that they saw the mistake right away, instead of half a year later, like me. And they worked through the problem, and found out that the calculations were right all along. That they'd made a mistake somewhere. So they scrapped the project." He raised a hand, and shrugged to the newcomer. "I guess that's the extent of my crime."

"So," the young woman quickly replied, "how come you left the Garden so 

quickly?"

"It kinda got me curious," he said. "I only needed one figure to complete my research, and I needed to go to Trabia for it. Irvine could only get tickets for tonight."

Irvine interjected with a hand of his own. "I'd like to be reimbursed for those, by the way. Just throwing that in."

Aren laughed, and he faced the stranger again. "I'm sorry if I caused any confusion. I'm just some nerdy kid with a weird hobby, that's all."

And the stranger sat in silence for a good moment. She heaved a sigh, and leaned back, propping herself up with her arms. "It looks like I've made an incredible mistake," she shook her head. "I'm sorry, everyone. I never meant to accuse."

Irvine rolled to his side. "Hey, it's all good! Like, we're all on the same page, right? And nobody's at anyone's throat, and nobody's dead, right? I'd say we came out on top!"

He tapped her shoulder, dispite already having her attention, and glanced this way and that. "Say," he whispered. "You're done with that whole _arresting _thing, right?"

"Of course!" she replied, with a slight blush.

"Good!" he shouted, and tackled her to the floor in a playful bearhug. "'Cause it's _great _to see you again!"

The stranger struggled to free herself, laughing with her friend. "Gaah! Hey, let me go!"

"Selphie!" called Irvine, slamming her to the floor. "She's getting away!"

"_Oh _no she isn't!" Selphie laughed, in victory-cry fashion, and leapt into the battle. "Dog-pile!"

Aren stretched his arms across the empty couch, and observed the struggle. He widened a smile and shook his head. _And then there were four,_ he thought. _Can't I go somewhere with this guy without running into a lady-friend of his? Guess I'll count my blessings, though. At least Selphie didn't try to kill me..._

Irvine halted the action with a sharp "Hold it!" The three landed simultaneously, hitting the ground with dull _thuds._ Irvine held the stranger by one arm, and Selphie had her by the other. Irvine cleared his throat, and spoke formally. "Aren, I'd like you to meet a dear friend of mine."

"Another dear friend?" Aren laughed.

"Yes, another dear friend. This is the one-and-only Quistis Trepe." He spun his head to the woman, and she turned quickly to him as well. "And Quistis," he said, "is comrade-in-arms and resident Potion-user, Aren Bowes."

Aren nodded cordially to Quistis Trepe. "It's nice to meet you," he said.

Trepe looked to Irvine, then to Selphie, and quickly rolled backwards. She sent the two flipping head-over-heels, and bumping heads lightly. Standing, she brushed off her once-perfect red dress, and stepped to the sofa. "Mister Bowes," she urged. "I'm terribly sorry for what I did to you. Please forgive me, it's a pleasure to meet you." She shyly offered a handshake.

"No hard feelings," smiled Aren. "Guess I can see why you'd be worried. But hey, that's behind us now." He took her hand and gave it a shake.

He felt a quick poke on his shoulder. As he turned away from Trepe, he caught a second's glance of a smiling Irvine and Selphie, and was creamed in the face by a set of pillows.

~

The Intel Center was clean and brightly lit. Half a dozen rows of computers, facing one way in typical control-room fashion, were lined up and attended by red-suited soldiers with headset microphones. At the far end of the spacious, metal-walled room, a giant video screen flashed coordinates, and the wireframe image of a map.

"We've lost her!" shouted one of the soldiers from the middle, but the others already knew that. They had heard the radio connection crackle out, and seen the audio waves go dead on their screens. Their eavesdropping was concluded for the moment.

From behind the computer rows, a sliding metal door gave a hiss, and opened. Commander Zaryn stepped in, and was greeted by soldiers who jumped from their chairs and saluted properly, palm before face. His boots and gloves of shining brown leather glistened from the halogen lights. A combat suit of heavy red cloth adorned him; it was zipped and buttoned to the top. His wide shoulders ended in straps of leather. His chin was clean-shaven, his lips wide, and his nose blunt. Deep-set blue eyes scanned the room behind long red hair; he stood out amongst the buzz-cut soldiers.

"At ease," he addressed them, in a deep voice. "Continue with your respective tasks." He leaned to one of the soldiers, and looked over the information presented on his screen. "Have we lost audio?"

"Yes sir," the officer nodded. "And we've gathered new information, as well! It turns out that Kinneas and Tilmitt were close friends of Trepe's. They seem to have tricked her into letting down her guard. They got her into their room, and it seems Kinneas has just jumped her."

Zaryn growled. "We should have researched more, before sending a Balamb SeeD. I was hoping she'd have known their backgrounds a little better. Who would have known they'd been _friends?"_

"It was unlikely, sir."

"Well, we must assume the worst case," said the commander. He stood upright, and called to the room of soldiers. "As of this point, we are assuming that Quistis Trepe has been terminated. We cannot wait for her signal to return. She was unaware we were monitoring her in the first place, so it would be impossible for her to find the transmitter anyhow. Cut the audio link."

A multitude of computer keys tapped away, as Zaryn stepped to the front of the Intel Center. "We're behind schedule!" he shouted out. "We have less than twenty hours before the train reaches Trabia. We are no longer concerned with arrests! Priority one is now to _terminate_ Bowes, Tilmitt, and Kinneas!"

A soldier stood, and saluted sharply. "Sir! What if Quistis Trepe is still alive, sir?"

Zaryn was silent a moment. "She could have been exposed to the Stratagem. She will be terminated as well."

~


	9. Freak

~

Irvine stepped through the doorway, and it swooshed closed behind him. To his surprise, he heard a loud, sharp _click_. "Hey!" he shouted. "It _locked, _everyone!"

Selphie cheered, and Aren laughed some. They sat with Quistis on the room's carpeted floor, and made room for Irvine, who tossed his hat to the couch and joined them.

"The club car's all locked up," he announced. "Must be closed for the night."

Selphie frowned, and snapped her fingers. "Aw, _great! _Now we gotta go hungry tonight!"

"I could be mistaken," remarked Quistis, having a glance around, "but aren't there refrigerators in these cars?"

"Hey, that's right!" cried Selphie, and she bounded to her feet. "We're saved!"

Irvine slapped his knees, and slowly stood. "Spread out!" he mock-ordered. His team began a careful analysis of the perimeter. Aren and Selphie tapped on the wall above the couch, and Quistis inspected the drawers under the bunkbed.

__

What a crazy ordeal this is turning into, he thought. _Confusing, a little scary...and dangerous, in that glamorous-romantic sort of way!_

"Ooh!" he heard Selphie shout. "I found...nothing."

__

And kinda familiar, too...a little reminiscent, if I might venture. Sure is great to see Selphie again. Looks like she's gettin' along with Aren just fine.

Aren yanked hard on what seemed to be a dresser knob. But it turned out only a decoration, and he tore it clean off the wall. Selphie giggled; he shrugged and examined it.

Irvine turned to the newcomer, her back turned, knelt over the drawers under the bed. _And just when I figured the reunion was over, here she comes. Same as ever, too. Still stone-cold serious, and deticated, and maybe a little jumpy...yeah, she's still Quistis. And boy, is she still beautiful._

What felt like a round piece of wood flew from across the room, and conked him on the head. "Hey, fearless leader!" called Aren. "Get lookin', Selphie's starving here!"

"I could go for something, myself, if you all don't mind," Quistis replied from the other end.

Irvine pushed his coat away, and bent to a spot at the wall, where the rows of decorative knobs were untouched by Aren. _Well, at least now I know her. And I know she sure doesn't go for that charmin' bit! I must've been such a loser, can't believe I put her through all that...ah well, live and learn._

He tugged at one of the knobs, and it swung quickly open. Glowing light flushed from inside. A cold blast of air indicated that Irvine had found the refrigerator.

"Hey, everyone, take a look!" he called. "Looks like I found the fridge!" But as they gathered around, they all sighed as one, and Irvine bit his lip. Empty.

Quistis folded her arms. "Well, I can always check my car, maybe there's something in there."

"Anything's worth a try, right?" said Selphie, rather desparately.

"Yeah, and you'd better hurry," Irvine added. "Selphie's got that look in her eye!"

~

Aren pulled on some more decorative knobs. "You know, it's funny the GDS would send your friend all this way, if they didn't get their facts straight first."

"Yeah, kinda is," Selphie nodded, as she stood amid the room, scratching her head. "I guess they didn't have time to think about it. Oh well, it's all over now, I guess."

Irvine lay on the lower bunk, his arm dangling from the side. He yanked off his hat, and threw it across the room, hitting Aren on the back. "Hey, we found the fridge," he said. "No use still looking."

"Yeah, guess so." Aren stood up and stretched. But without notice, he wobbled forward, and nearly fell. His hands reached for his temples as he steadied his balance, to little avail.

"You okay?" asked Selphie, and she quickly dashed to his side.

Aren stumbled her way, and she reached forth to catch him, but quickly twisted back. "Fine," he winced. "Guess we're...getting into those mountains...right about now."

"Probably," Irvine said, and sat up. "Wanna lay down a sec? Might take the pressure off."

"No, I'm fine!" Aren replied, clenching his head harder. He fumbled forward, and slammed his shoulder into the door. A few taps of the keypad, and the door was unlocked. It swished away and let him through.

Selphie sighed, and dropped her shoulders, as it slammed back shut. She closed her dark eyes, and shook her head, and gave a little shrug.

Irvine placed an arm around her shoulder. "You're doin' fine, kiddo," he smiled.

"You know, I just don't get it!" she cried. "He gets so close sometimes, and it's just terriffic...but whenever I try to get close to _him..."_ She clenched her fists tightly. "It seems like he just...closes himself off."

Irvine led her to the long sofa. "That sounds about right, considering Aren." He gave her a reassuring smile, and wiped her eyes. "There's, like, two sides to the guy. Mostly, he's a good kid, got a heart of gold. A little cocky, but in a good way, you know? Just to be funny. Really caring, clever, all that jazz."

"Yeah," she sniffed, "it's great...what happens?"

"Well," said Irvine, "he's gone through a lot, and it kinda catches up with him. An' it gets him in a pretty bad mood." He chuckled to himself. "Guess he's got good reason, too. All he needs is a loud noise or a change in altitude, and he's all messed up. I'd probably get sick of it after a while, too. But at least he can..."

Selphie noticed him stop short. "What? He can _what?"_

"Nevermind," said Irvine. "Just runnin' on, that's all."

He paused for a time, and then smiled. "But you know what? No matter what mood he's in, it seems like he's always got some time for you. It might not look like it, but I think you're really helping him out."

Selphie stared out toward the door. "I doubt it. He doesn't give me the time of day."

Irvine guffawed. "Time of _day? _Kid, when Aren's on one of his mad streaks, you're lucky to leave with your _head _attached!"

"Yeesh," she cringed, and rubbed her neck.

~

Aren sat beside the closed train door. His head was clear now, but still he sat against the cold metal wall, and watched the thick barrier of trees whiz by at the other end of the glass windows.

__

I need to get back to Terra, he thought. _Need to find Master Kore, and get some things ironed out. I can't live like this. It's not fair to me, or anyone I'm around. And I'm sick of hiding it! _

Maybe Trey was better off. It was over in a flash for him. But I'm stuck here, and I've got to wake up in a cold sweat every night, after I watch him burn inside the Milicar. I've got to watch the flash, and hear the blast, and feel the metal stab me every night. Yeah, Trey was better off.

The door whooshed open, and Selphie stepped shyly out. She glanced down, and Aren watched her eyes seek his. They did not meet, of course, and he did not expect them to. She could not see his eyes. But still she tried, and searched for his eyes every time they met. It made him terribly uncomfortable.

"Um...listen..." she whispered, standing in the doorway, and shuffling her feet. "I know you probably don't wanna talk right now..."

He smiled to her. "I think I'm okay now, thanks for your patience."

"Oh, of course!" she said. "...Well, whenever you'd like to talk, there's some things I'd like to say..." She turned to retreat into the room.

"Hey, hold it!" he stopped her. "Really, I'm fine. What's up?"

Selphie stepped hesitantly into the hallway, and shut the door. "Mind if I sit down?"

Aren waved for the space beside her. "Not at all. What's on your mind?"

__

Isn't it obvious what's on her mind? he thought. _She wants to know what's wrong with me. Wants to feel sorry for me, like anyone with a decent sense of pity would. Pity the freak._

She crossed her legs, and sat to the floor at his side. "I don't...really...know how to say this," she hesitated. "But, I know I've said...and done...some things that you haven't liked. I just want you to know that I'm really sorry."

__

Pity the freak.

"It's all right," he nodded. "You didn't know."

"But, you see...I _still _don't...and I don't wanna do anything that'd hurt you! What if I do something else?"

__

Then I'll take offense, and you'll be confused, and I'll forgive you, and we'll wait until next time. Stupid way to go about it.

He ran his hands through his long hair. "I dunno...what you're asking."

Selphie sighed, and closed her eyes a moment, as though preparing herself. Finally, she spoke, and it hit him hard. "I guess it's best to just be straightforward, 'cause I've been thinking about this one for a while, and...I just can't make it sound good. But...I wanna get close to you, Aren."

It was pure chance, he knew so. But even if it was, it startled him. Because her eyes met his.

__

...How close?

Her eyes left his, and her head tilted to the floor. "If you don't feel the same way, I understand...but...you're confusing me..." She giggled lightly. "And I'm easily confused! So...it's kinda...up...to..."

__

Confused? Of course she is! That was the whole point, right? Keep her guessing. Moron. Some relationship. She deserves better. Better than the freak. She just doesn't see it yet. Tell her no, get it over with. She'll be better off in the long run. Trey hurt, but he was better off.

"I do," he said hoarsely.

__

No! No, let her go! It's just gonna be harder for her!

Selphie gasped lightly. "I knew it!" she smiled, and reached to touch his face. But Aren jerked sharply back. His metallic shades glared coldly.

Her hand shrinked quickly back, and she frowned in a mix of anger and embarrassment. "What...what now?" she sighed. "Awh...Aren, I just don't _get _it!"

"It's not easy..." he choked. "Getting close."

Again the coincidence came, and her eyes deadlocked with his. It chilled him, as she asked him earnestly, _"why?"_

Thoughts, excuses, and recurring nightmares escaped him. He breathed heavily, unable to break from Selphie's gaze. Her dark almond eyes held him fast, and threatened to grip tighter.

She gently shook her head, and welled up a tear. "Can't you _please..._tell me _why?"_

He choked for breaths. "I...I'm not like you...or Irvine. Not normal. Can't see...hear...cry...not like you. I could, but not anymore."

She whispered, "I'm sorry," and folded her hands in her lap. "It...must be hard for you."

And once again, she raised her palm to Aren's face. He sat statue-still, but did not pull away. She gently placed her hand upon his cheek, and still gazing, smiled sweetly. Her other hand palm ran to his forehead, where long strands of black hair fell down to his shining glasses. She carefully brushed the hair aside. On his pale skin, a fine line of scar tissue ran across. 

Flashes of protruding steel returned, images of pain, and adults looking on him in shock and disgust. Aren tensed, and exhaled.

"It's...it's okay," she whispered.

She ran her hand down to his temple, to place his hair behind his ear, he assumed. But instead, she touched her fingers to cold metal. It made her jump a bit, and Aren cringed inwardly. Covering his ears were domes of metal, preforated around their bases by black rectangular holes.

Her gentle palm left his pale, angular cheek. His open hand, laying at his thigh, felt hers slip into it, and tighten in a reassuring grip. Selphie smiled, amid their combined discomfort, and whispered, "maybe I'm finally starting...to understand..."

A pierce of shrill sound tore through Aren's head, and nestled deep inside, bouncing off the walls of his skull. He shut his eyes hard, and fought the pain. _Not now,_ he thought. _Please, just leave me alone now. I don't need to see it..._

A wave of chorused screams surrounded him in the dark. He felt movement, the rush of wind beside him. Eyes snapped open, and a new location greeted him. He was alone, and found his bearings in a run-down, concrete-walled shack. Crumbling cement was piled at the far corner of the little one-room building; a gaping hole was present in the ceiling above it. A battered table barely stood at the room's center, with a rickety stool at either end. Ratty blankets were rolled up along the back wall.

He glanced down, and was taken aback. He had the body of a small boy. Filthy rags covered him; a pair of ripped bluejeans and an old fuzzy sweatshirt.

The rush of wind passed before him, and Aren saw a young boy about his size. Red-haired and freckled, he was gangly and just as raggedly clothed. "Come on, Aren!" he taunted. "You know the rules! First one to the Millie-Car gets to drive!"

The boy took off out a small wooden door, one that Aren had not noticed. He chased the child through. Outside, there was a filthy city street, and run-down shops lined either side of the road. In a break between two buildings lay a battered and rusted vehicle. Once it drove on six bulky wheels, but now it was propped on cinderblocks. A rounded front end sloped up to a barely-visible windshield, and the curve continued to the vehicle's rear, where it came to an abrupt halt. Aren recognized it as a Dollet MiliCar.

Aren struggled his hardest to catch up with the child, who ran across the street. "Tuh...Trey! That's no fair! You know I'm...slower than you!"

"Alright!" teased the boy, and he skidded to a halt. "Here's your chance!"

Aren pumped his arms, and his ripped-up shoes kicked up dirt from the street, as he pounded to catch up. But he lost his balance. And he tripped on himself, and flung forward, slamming the redhead in the stomach.

"Ooph!!" the boy grunted, and collapsed. He hopped back up, and gasped, "aw, look what you did! You tore my pants! Way to go, Aren!"

"I'm...sorry, Trey," Aren huffed and puffed.

"Yeah, well, it took me a whole _day _to find pants these good! Just for that, I get to drive _next _time _too!"_

Aren gave a dejected sigh. He slumped forward, as his friend ran off, and shook his head. "I'll _never _beat Trey to the Millie-Car..."

But he heard a strange sound, and lifted his head. It was coming from his right, and down the street some. A group of perhaps fifty men, dressed in shiny metal and blue cloth, and black boots and gloves, were standing shoulder to shoulder. They carried swords, and had strange, saucer-like helmets on their heads, tipped at the front by three red dots.

At their lead was another metal-wearing man, but he was dressed in red, not blue. His forearms were made bulky and powerful-looking by giant metal gloves. He wore the same helmet as the blue men. And he carried a long, jet-black tube in his arm.

The red man halted, as Aren watched in curiosity, and the blue men raised their swords. The red one dropped quickly to one knee, and he rested the black tube on his shoulder. Though he was distant, Aren heard his voice.

"Aim...fire!"

__

Clink, went the sound of metal dislodging from metal, and then came an airy _hiss_ of releasing air. From the tube, a shining green object emerged, shaped like a ball that had been stretched out. It hovered in the air for a brief moment.

__

Fwoooom!! Flame and smoke burst from behind the object. Aren gasped in shock, and he watched it lurch from its spot in a breakneck streak of cloud.

Trey hopped into the front seat of the beaten Millie-Car, and slammed the door shut. He stuck his arm out the shattered, thin windshield. "Hey, Aren!" he called. "What's keepin' ya...?"

The object struck the back of the MiliCar. _Bwa-booom!! _The sound shook him to the core. And the flash of belching molten fire overtook his eyes. He screamed in pain and shock, and staggered away, locking his eyelids tightly. 

He felt thousands of objects, all of different in sizes and shape, careen on his body. Scraping, stabbing, they tore him away.

__

Krunnnch! 

A powerful impact cracked on his forehead, one that knocked him to his back. Pain stung him with terriffic force. What had happened? What was going on? They were in danger!

Aren reached to his forehead, and his hand was cut by razor-sharp steel. He felt the ice of metal, and the soaking of blood over his hands. And he screamed in terror. 

"Run! They're in the city!" voices shouted in a frenzy. But he lay where he was. Something metal was lodged in his forehead. He screamed and cried, and kicked the dirt in the street, and he felt his blood pour over his face. But no one came to his aid. And as he waited, and wailed for help, he heard the once-bustling voices die away. New sounds came in their stead. The sound of marching feet, a sound that came for a time, and went away. And the dismal crackle of fire, which he could barely make out over his ringing ears. That was a sound that stayed.

Now it was the smells he noticed. The reeks of blood and sweat came first, as he jointly felt them run down his face. And the stench of burning metal, and burning plastic, he recognized those. But something else was burning as well, and he could not make it out.

His calls for help became dull moans, drenched in the pain that dizzied him so much. He struggled to sit upright. Perhaps he should open his eyes, to search for a rescuer...

Trey!

His heart skipped a beat. And he fought hard, to loosen the clamps of his eyelids, and submit himself to the sight of his torture. Sunlight burned him like the flash of fire moments before.

An immediate relief, he could not see whatever was protruding from his forehead. But he soon drew a deeper panic than his injuries were causing. He could see nothing. A haze of white was spread before him. He blinked, and rubbed his eyes, and shook his head back and forth in a frenzy.

Sight returned for a brief moment. The MiliCar was a pile of mangled green steel, melted to a solid mass in the rear. Doors were crushed, and some were missing. But the front door was still there, hiding Trey from view. And still dangling from the windshield, was the boy's shredded and bloddy arm.

Flash of white. And darkness.

With a choking gasp, Aren wrenched back his head. _Thunk,_ it collided with the wall behind him. He heard Selphie gasp as well. Eyes opened; he was once again himself, and beside her on the train car. A bead of sweat rolled from his scarred forehead. He had seen it over and over, so many times, yet every one seemed like the first.

Selphie was panting for breaths. She shook in fear, and her face and hair were damp of sweat. Her hand grasped Aren's in a deadlock.

She gained her bearings. And still heaving her breaths, she looked up to Aren. Their eyes met. But he felt this time that it was no coincidence. She uttered a breathed gasp, and her own eyes widened; she stared right into him. And Aren's heart sank a thousand fathoms.

He could feel his jet-black sunglasses, broken and hanging loosely from one ear.

Frantically he turned to the glass of the train's windows, and took in his reflection. Behind thin, slitted eyelids, his eyes were pure white, save a tiny grey retina in each. The retinas focused together, and they focused dramatically, waning to near-dots as he stared at them.

He lightly closed his eyes, and turned to the young woman behind that. "Sorry, Selphie..." he whispered. "I'm sorry."

Selphie still gazed blankly. Her hand lightly covered her mouth. "Oh...._Hy-yne! Aren..."_

"Guess I'll be straightforward, too," Aren sighed, rubbing his face with steel-palmed hands. "I'm a mess...I'm all screwed up. And, I'm not worth your time."

"Aren, you...I..."

"No," he cut her off. "The last thing I wanted to do was make you more uncomfortable. Especially with all you're doing right now. I'm sorry. And I'm not worth it."

Aren felt her body press against his. He felt the slide of her arms around his shoulders. And he felt her squeeze him tightly. Selphie touched her cheek to his, and her tears ran over his face. The blood never entered his mind.

~


	10. Staggerwaves

a/n: Long time, no update! Sorry, I'll try to make 'em quicker...

~

His grey eyes focused in sharp jolts, zipping from tiny to coin-sized, and with an intent stare on the young lady who held him. Her thin arms were bound tightly around him, and she rested gently against him, covering the gaping tear in his favorite shirt. Her smile was bright, and her eyes a bit teary, and wide with amazement as she gazed at his own.

Aren could not help but crack a smile. He slowly blinked, but made sure he returned to the inviting gaze. "You can look away any time now," he said quietly.

"Now, why would I do _that?" _smiled Selphie, and she thinned her dark eyes a bit.

"Well," said Aren, "They're not exactly the norm, are they?"

She nodded slightly. "No...I guess not! In fact," she replied cheerily, "I think it's safe to say I've _never_ seen a set of peepers like yours!"

And she drew closer. It was unnerving, this closeness, and the nakedness of his eyes after so long. But strangely, he was finding it rather easy to get used to.

"But, you know what?" she winked, and her brown hair touched his scarred forehead. "I think they're beautiful..."

Swoosh! A few yards down, the steel door to Quistis' room quickly opened. She emerged, her folded hands devoid of the food she had set out to find.

Aren and Selphie turned quickly to face the young lady. Quistis noticed them, in the rather akward moment, and gave a smile and a short gasp. She took a step back, and glanced this way and that.

"Oh my, uhm, sorry!" she laughed. "I was merely...eh..."

Aren cut her stammering short. "_What?!" _he snapped.

Her smile disappeared. "Um...just going inside...I guess..."

"Go on, then," he said tightly. A quick look towards the door, and stretched his palm in its direction. A shrill scream sounded, followed by a series of beeps, and the door slid open for Quistis.

She nodded nervously, stepping through the doorway and shutting the door behind her.

Aren sighed. "Why me?" he laughed.

"Aw, go easy on her!" Selphie giggled. "She's really sweet."

"Yeah, well, we're not on the best of terms right now. She ripped up my best shirt, and I _am _kinda partial to my _forehead _too..."

She patted his cheek. "You're just jealous 'cause a chick beat you up!"

"Hey!"

~

Quistis leaned against the red-papered wall. "What a mess," she sighed, and buried her face in one hand.

Irvine's easy-going call startled her. "Why's that?"

She snapped up her head, to find him seated at the sofa on the far wall. "Oh, I didn't know you were in here!" she half-smiled.

"Where else'd I be?" he shrugged. "Not outside, that's for sure! Aren and Selphie are out there, you know."

"I _know, _I _know!" _Quistis stepped tiredly across the room, and collapsed onto the couch beside him. "My, I've sure messed things up for everyone, haven't I?"

He shrugged. "Nah! It ain't your fault! We just got caught up in a little misunderstanding, I guess, and it's kinda made it a little akward for ya."

"I suppose," she sighed. "I really am sorry for all this."

"Hey, don't worry about it!" laughed Irvine. "It's just, like, really cool bein' able to catch up with you!" He pointed toward the door. "Plus, I was slowly becoming the third wheel on this little adventure!"

"I see!" Quistis smiled. "Not used to _that,_ are we?"

He chuckled back. "Well, let's just say it'll be good having someone to talk to!"

"Agreed."

~

Aren sat arm-in-arm with Selphie, against the wall of the train's hallway. They watched the treeline whiz by outside the big glass windows, passing in the darkness in a powerful force. They felt the cold wind of an open window down the hall, and the warmth of each other's company.

The trees stopped, and together they viewed a grassy farmer's plain. Waves of grain blew back and forth in the night's breeze. An old tractor was parked carelessly nearby the track, and it streaked by at lightning speed.

Selphie turned to Aren, and lay her chin on his shoulder. "Hey, Aren?" she asked. "Where's Terra? Seems like everyone I've talked to has a different answer."

Aren smiled, and looked down to her. "Maybe they're all right. There's not just one Terra. There's a few dozen, really."

"_Really?" _she awed. "And they're all..."

He nodded. "All underground. They connect through Terra-bays. But each Garden has a Terra-bay, too. And not one of those bays are the same. They all connect to different parts of Terra."

"Wow," breathed Selphie. "All this time, I thought it was just a cave, or something..." She quickly caught herself. "Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean that!"

"I know, I know," he laughed. "That's how most people see us Terrans. You'd be surprised how far we reach around the globe."

Aren felt a gust of ice wind blow upon them, and he noticed a shiver in Selphie. He waved a hand toward an open window down the hall. The window slid with the motion of his palm, and gently shut.

"You know," he said, "once this whole Stratagem thing gets wrapped up, I've been thinking of going back home for a while. I need to visit some people. Maybe...you'd come with me?"

She nearly leapt. "_Really? _Wow, that'd be so much fun! Could Irvine and Quistis come too?"

Aren nodded. "Sure, Irvine's been there a few times, so he'd probably wanna say 'hi' to some people." He rubbed at his forehead. "We'll have to watch out for that Quistis character, though!"

"Oh, come on!" she laughed, and he flashed a thin smile. But she stopped short, with a quizzical look. "Say, when's Irvine been to Trabia?"

"Well, that's a pretty long story..."

Another cold rush of wind snapped at them. Selphie shuddered once more. "W-wow, guess I'm not used to Trabian weather anymore!"

But Aren thinned his eyes. _I just closed that window, _he thought. _And I locked it, too..._

Selphie cocked her head. "Something wrong, Aren?"

"Shh," he hushed her. With a quick spin, he set her back against the wall, and turned to face down the shadowy hallway. The window was still closed.

"Selphie, you felt that breeze, right?"

"Um...sure!" she replied from behind him.

Aren stood amid the hall. "Odd," he cocked a grey eye, and unzipped two pockets on his baggy jeans. He retrieved his set of forearm clasps. "So did I," he said, and locked them in place.

Tap-tap-tap-tap, he heard feint snaps against the cold ground. "Selphie," he whispered. "I think someone's coming."

She gave a nervous look, but smiled it off. "Well, we are on a _train,_ silly!"

Tap-tap, the snaps came closer. "Yeah, but it's too late." He glanced back to Selphie. "I think you oughtta go inside."

"Aw, come on!" she stood, and shivered, as another gust of wind blew over them both. "I think it's just your imagination!"

Clink, kuh-chink! The metallic noise echoed in his head. He knew it well, it was as distinct as the blood to him. A six-hundred round clip locking into a Galbadian AC-78CC automatic rifle, and the double-click of the gun's two safeties being unlocked.

Panic filled his heart, and thinned his grey eyes, as his fists tightened in preparation for one of his waves. And the next sound, Selphie heard as well.

A string of thunderous claps tore the night silence to pieces. The end of the hall lit in strobelike flashes of fire and smoke, and lit up the body of a blue-clothed man behind the trigger. Bullets tore in constant stream down the hall, none too precisely. Windows shattered away; pieces of the floor and walls cracked and splintered.

Aren met the fire with tightly concentrated eyes. The shells halted short of his body, disappearing abruptly in an invisible wave that screamed a shrill cry. Even the bullets that strayed to either side of him were trapped.

Over the bursting shots and the banshee-screech of his protective warp, he heard a sharp squeal from Selphie. But her panic had struck later than Aren's and his was already through. He knew this feeling, being under fire, from much experience. He had stared down many barrels. It startled and unnerved him, but no longer caused fright.

__

Stagger waves, he flashed a quick thought. _Can't waste time! Wait for the sign..._

He strained to hold the shield up, as the fury of bullets rained on him hard. But the sound and flashes halted, and echoed down the hall. Smoke fizzled into the light where he stood, and the man once again disappeared into the shadows.

Another echo met his dome-covered ear. _Click-clank.....click-clank......click-clank..._it faded.

__

He's out! He's switching clips!

Aren loosened the grip on his fists, and the screech was gone. He thrusted forward his open palms. _Skree! Skree! Skree! _Deafening shouts pierced the air, and he watched as space warped around his hands, and released blasts of sonic energy that distorted the atmosphere around them. The bursts careened down the bullet-reeled hall.

He fired the stagger waves relentlessly. Screeches of collapsing sound pounded his head, more piercing than any gunshot. He listened carefully into the dark, and heard the _thunk_ of impacts, and a rocking _bwoom!_ as each shockwave met some end.

A few seconds passed, and Aren stopped the shockwaves. He lowered his arms, glancing back to Selphie. She was nervously pressed against her room's shut door, eyes wide, and chest heaving pants. Not a bullet from the machinegun had touched her.

He waited, stone-still in the eerie silence, for a confirmation of safety. _Drip...drip...drip..._ A nearly inaudible sound returned to him.

"We're safe," he sighed.

The metal door swished open, and Selphie tumbled, screaming, back into her room. She returned to the hall a split-second later, accompanied by a battle-ready Quistis and Irvine.

Irvine slid coolly into the hallway, his shotgun raised with one arm. "What happened?" he asked.

Quistis tugged a coiled chain-whip in her hands. "Were you attacked?"

Aren nodded. "Fired on. We're okay, I think." He raised a hand for them to stop. "Don't...don't go over there," he warned. "I'll check it out."

"What'd you do?" Irvine lowered his weapon some.

"Stagger-waved him," Aren cracked his pale knuckles. "I had to."

"Yeesh!" Irvine grimaced. He dropped the gun to his side. "Well, there's no way we're in any danger _now,_ that's for sure!"

__

Craaash! A trio of armor-clad men smashed through the cracked windows beside them, spraying glass their way. One kicked Aren off his feet as he swung through, and sent the SeeD slamming into the wall.

Aren shook off a dizzying knock to the head, and opened his eyes to the attacker. The man was dressed in blue, and had armor on his forearms and lower legs. An elongated helmet stared him down, a set of three red dots threateningly in his face.

A steel-clad fist swung to Aren's face, but he grabbed it short. Quickly he twisted it behind the attacker's back, and landed a powerful uppercut punch to the unguarded chin. The blue-garbed man stumbled to unconsciousness on the ground.

"They're soldiers!" he shouted to his friends.

The remaining two armored ones leapt through the crowd of attacking SeeD's around them. One was blue, Aren noted, but the other was dressed in red, and had thicker armor. They sent heavy punches to Aren's face and stomach. He blocked a few, but many hit their marks.

He quickly dropped to the ground, and slid his leg in between those of the blue soldier. Aren swept him, and grabbed the man by the metal shoulders as he fell.

Above, he watched a clean swipe of Irvine's shotgun butt slam the back of the red soldier's head. The burly trooper fell to the ground, and Aren hopped up. _Wham-wham,_ he double-bashed the blue helmet to the wall, and the soldier was knocked cold.

Aren looked to the pile of defeated attackers. "Familiar?" he asked.

Selphie and Quistis gasped, and Irvine tightened his eyes. "They're Galbadian!" he said. "Galbadian Army!"

~


	11. Arrival

Aww yeah! Back with some more chapters! I'm occasionally including some music references now. Sometimes lyrics will be included, other times it's just a song that I found fitting for the scene. They're good, okay?! Get them!! =)

---

Musical Accompaniment: "Babylon" by Circle of Dust

---

] Boarding Area

] Train Station

] Trabian Mountains

Two machinegun-armed guards, adorned by thick vests and metal helmets, simultaneously pushed keycards into slots on the windowless door. Aren waited impatiently behind them, adjusting his dark crimson sweatshirt. Selphie was at his side; Irvine and Quistis stood just behind.

Aren hoped the guards would not escort them further than the train. They were such an insult to him; he guessed that at his young age of nineteen, he had more combat experience than these adult soldiers could dream of. But the good city of Balamb insisted that these measures were necessary, and he obliged.

The protective measures Balamb had offered seemed rediculous to him. Once the crew of the original train got word of the attack, the train was stopped at the nearest station, and Aren's group was carefully escorted to an armored truck. They were driven, carefully protected, all the way back to Galbadia, where a fully-armored Balamb military train carried them on the exact train track they had just taken. Two days had been shaved off Irvine's leave of absence now, and Aren could be called to active duty at any time.

The second ride to Trabia had been painfully uncomfortable. Aren was convinced that they had been locked in some sort of converted prison car. The walls, floor and ceiling were raw, thick steel. Of course, there were no windows, and the only door was tightly sealed and locked. Two guards were supposed to stand inside the car and keep watch, but the group had successfully shooed them out. The beds and benches were cold metal with flimsy sheets. The sound of the mighty train reverberated through that little car, and bounced between those steel walls so badly that Aren could scarcely contain himself.

But this time around, his comrades shared in the discomfort. Even they recieved bad headaches. After the first few hours, Quistis had begun showing signs of claustrophobia. And it was not long before Irvine and Selphie felt the same discomfort. It was a long, terrible night, but they had finally made it through.

They now stood at the end of the steel hallway to the car's exit. A musical beep came from the carefully-riveted door. Keycards slid out from their insets, and the guards snatched them up. The door hissed slowly away.

Rustic mountain air blasted them invitingly. Aren shoved the soldiers aside, and leapt down from the train before the rolling ladder could connect with it. His friends did the same.

"We did it!" shouted Irvine victoriously. "We were shot at, kicked around, and locked in a metal _box_ for two days, but we _made _it to _Trabia!"_

Selphie and Aren gave a cheer, and Quistis smiled in amusement. She stretched her arms wide. "Thank goodness! I thought I'd go crazy in that contraption."

One of the soldiers tapped Aren on the shoulder. "Will you be needing our assistance further?" he asked professionally.

"I didn't need you in the _first_ place!" Aren laughed.

Quistis cut between him and the soldier, and smiled courteously. "Thank you, sir, but we're able to go from here."

"Very good," nodded the soldier. He stepped back up the now-connected rolling ladder, and joined his teammate, who stood at the open doorway.

Aren rolled his eyes behind a pair of round black goggles, organic-looking things that jutted from his face like the eyes of an insect. He once again faced his friends. They stood in an impromptu line, facing their new destination. The grassy plain they stood on seemed to stretch for miles in meandering paths between towering, majestic mountains capped in snow. About a half-mile in the distance was a beastly mountain formation, wrapped in a near circle. But there was a partition on the giant rocks. In the center of this formation, lay a mass of rubble and crumbling buildings.

Selphie watched the city of Trabia with intent eyes. "Well, everyone," she said, "welcome home."

---

] Xann Ave.

] Downtown Trabia

] Trabia

"So, where'd you get those shades, man?"

Irvine turned, and pointed to Aren's bubble-sunglasses, as they maneuvered the smashed road that ran through downtown Trabia. Small shops at either end of them were crushed, and some were totally flattened, from the massive boulders of concrete that had fallen from Trabia Garden so long ago. Whatever structures still remained were scorched with sut and burn marks.

"Yes," remarked Quistis, "I've never seen that style worn before..."

Aren nodded. "It's Terran, I brought 'em from home."

Irvine laughed, and poked at the curved glass. "Wow, you've had those things for, like, ages! You held onto 'em for this long?"

"Guess so," said Aren. "Always carry a spare."

Selphie halted them, and motioned to her right. At the side of the road, between the rubble of two demolished buildings, was a giant boxlike tent. It stood two or three stories, and was maybe fifty yards wide; they could not tell how deep. Windows were cut from the fabric, and their flaps carried in the wind. Several wide entrances were pinned open.

Selphie gave a smile. Aren noticed it, and knew it was forced.

"If you guys don't mind," she said, "I've gotta stop here for a while. There's some...um...some people I need to say 'hi' to."

Aren looked into the tent. It was dark, and his eyesight was blurry without the aid of the sound within the tent. But he noticed a young lady walk by inside, passing across the front entrance. She wore a white cap with a red cross emblazoned in the front.

Irvine nodded. "Tell ya' what, we'll go look around, okay? We'll come back in like a half-hour."

Quistis agreed. "I'd like to meet with the garden master, myself. Maybe we can offer some assistance while we're here."

"Thanks, guys!" said Selphie. "I won't be long!"

She began toward the middle entrance of the tent. Aren caught up, and tapped her shoulder. "Hey, Selphie...want me to come?" he offered.

Irvine thumbed him back. "Aren! Ix-nay!!" he whispered.

Selphie thought for a moment, and gave a little sigh. "Well...I dunno if you...really want to."

"Sure I do!" he smiled confidently. "Unless you'd rather I take off, and that's fine too..."

"Uhm..." she ruffled her hair a bit. "You're sure?"

"Yup."

"Uh...okay, then! Come on in."

Aren waved to Irvine and Quistis. "Have fun!"

---

Heat throwers worked double-time to keep some warmth inside the tent. Hundreds of medical cots were lined in a dozen rows. Volunteers ran between the maze of beds, treating scores of sick children.

Selphie glanced up to Aren. His visage was calm, his bug-eyes scanning the area as they walked down one of the long rows. _That's odd,_ she thought. _He doesn't seem nervous! Gosh, even I'm nervous!_

"These children were all playing too close to the blast site," she explained. "They were poisoned by radiation. The adult hospital is down the street."

Aren nodded as they continued. Selphie smiled, and waved to the children, and many would wave back, or offer a greeting.

__

This is gonna be tough, she thought. "Aren, you can stay here if you want."

He did not respond, but continued at her side. He also smiled, and greeted the children as he went on.

A nurse carefully stepped between two beds, and halted them. She was an older woman, dark-skinned with a worn face. The shirt and pants she wore were stained with a thousand fluid medicines.

"Selphie!" she cried, and gave the girl a warm hug. "Selphie, it's great to see you!"

Selphie smiled, a real smile. "You too, Miss Gera! How's everything?"

"Oh, wonderful!" the woman replied, and began to walk with Selphie and Aren. "And who's this you've brought with you?"

Aren extended a cordial hand to her. "Aren Bowes, ma'am, nice to meet you."

"Oh, and you too, Aren!" She gave him a hearty handshake, and pointed to Selphie with a little wink.

"Miss Gera, come on!" Selphie laughed.

Gera patted her shoulder. "What? I did nothing! Anyhow, what brings you back?"

"Oh, Aren's doing some research on Trabia. I guess I'm giving him the guided tour."

"Well that's just wonderful!" said Gera. "Stay as long as you'd like, Aren! We don't have much, but we sure are friendly!"

Aren nodded. "Thank you! It sure seems so."

"Well," she continued, "I'm afraid I can't talk long. Nurse's work is never done. I'll see you both soon!" Gera waved, and walked briskly off.

Selphie laughed. "She's never in one place long enough to have a conversation!"

Aren smiled and nodded. "Seems nice, though."

She sighed. "Yeah...if I could just get these people some _resources_..."

"Hey, we'll work on it! Don't sweat."

The long line of cots came to an end, and another set of larger beds began. Selphie glanced at a sign on one of the tent posts, that read "Rehabilitation Area." _Oh gosh, here we go,_ she thought.

More children lay on the rehabilitation beds. Some were missing limbs or pieces thereof, others were burned, still others suffered from gashes or stab wounds. None of the children seemed to be crying, and few even looked tired. Rather, most were restless and fidgety. 

Selphie stopped at each bed now, and had a word with almost all of the children. Many knew her by name, and asked about the stranger beside her. And every time, Aren gladly introduced himself, and offered a light handshake or a pat on the shoulder. Selphie was amazed. Not once did Aren flinch at the gory sights, or skip to another bed, or pretend he did not notice a child. He insisted that he meet every one. When he was introduced to a girl with no arms, he smiled widely and ruffled her hair.

The area was bustling with the mention of Selphie's name. She laughed to Aren, as they stopped for a moment. "Gets a bit overwhelming at times, but they're good kids. They're still recovering from the blast. Most of them have stayed here, and the nurses have looked after them. I come and visit when I can."

She snapped her fingers, and grabbed Aren by the shoulder. "Aren," she exclaimed, "there's somebody you've _got_ to meet!"

They stepped to the middle of the tent, where the volunteer therapists were helping some of the children exercise. Selphie pointed to a young boy about ten, skinny and pale-faced with dark auburn hair. He wore a puffy sweatshirt that was at least two sizes too big for him. His right arm seemed to inadequately fill the sleeve. The boy lay on the dirt and concrete ground, performing push-ups. Most of his weight was shifted to the left side.

Selphie called excitedly. "Hey, Devon! I'm back!"

The boy leapt, and his face lit up. He sprinted to Selphie and gave her a big hug. "Hey, Seffie!" he squealed.

"Aw, you're lookin' great!" she praised, and shoved him away. "Pretty soon you're gonna be arm-wrestling Greev over there!"

Devon laughed. "Yeah, maybe with my _left _arm!"

"What, you don't think you can do it with the right?"

"Nah, it's really been hurtin' lately...I don't think it's getting any better. I'm kinda wondering if..."

The boy noticed Aren. "_Hold_ it!" he cried. "You...you're _Terran, _ain't you?"

Aren extended his hand. "Yeah, my name's Aren! How'd you know?"

The boy pointed a rather strong-looking left arm at him. "Those are Terran _army _specs! Wow, you're a _soldier?!"_

"Yup, I fought in the Galbadia Conflict. You're pretty observant!"

Devon folded his hands proudly. "You know, _I'm _Terran!"

Selphie giggled as Aren stumbled back. "No _way!" _he exclaimed. "Whoa! Okay, well, you're a little after my time, so you must have been in...the Gate Three Recapture, right?"

"Oh, yeah!" the boy laughed, and played along. He rolled up his oversized sleeve, and revealed his right arm. It was scarred, gashed, and skinny compared to his other.

Devon smiled proudly. "Got this one at Gate Three," he falsely bragged. "Took fire from a Galbadian X-12."

Aren nodded grimly and professionally. "Tough break, soldier. Okay, check _this_ out." He rolled up his own sleeve. Aren's right arm had a long, white scar running from wrist to shoulder. "Battle of the Crawlers. VR-55 shell went right through my Screamer, in here, and out there."

__

"Whoa!" Devon awed.

__

"Eww!" cringed Selphie.

---

Irvine stopped at a giant boulder in the road. The street was cracked and bowed, and it dropped a good three feet behind the boulder.He stepped to the side, and swooped his arm forward, for Quistis to advance.

Quistis smiled and cocked an eye. "Always the gentleman, weren't you?" she said, and bowed a deep thank-you. She took his gloved hand. Irvine carefully lowered her to the road below.

"Oh, I try," he returned, and leapt to the ground beside her. The wind fought to remove his hat; he held it in place. "Still can't figure out who those guys were that attacked us."

"Me either," shrugged Quistis. "Think they were just robbers?"

"Doubt it," said Irvine. "Firepower like that is hard to come by. Expensive, too, and tough to use without fillin' yourself with holes."

"Hmm. Well, they couldn't _possibly _be Galbadian, could they?"

She watched Irvine shake his head, and glance up at one of the crumbling buildings. "Nah. Galbadia's without a military. Been that way ever since the whole sorceress thing got sorted out." Irvine sighed, and rubbed his forehead, a small chuckle leaving his lips. "We'll have to go over it with Aren. Hyne knows _he's_ already got it figured out!"

They sat at a parkbench, bent slightly by the cracked ground under it. Quistis quickly folded her arms. She sat upright and professional, a serious gaze straight forward. She noticed Irvine's careless sprawl on his end of the bench.

__

Oh, Hyne, she thought. _Where do I start?_

"So, Irvine...where've you been all this time? I tried to contact you quite a few times. Galbadia Garden said you'd been transferred, or something to that effect..."

Irvine nodded, and pulled off his cowboy hat. He spun it lightly on his finger. "Yup, got sent to aid the Terrans in the Galbadia Conflict, just after the fall of the sorceress. That's where I met Aren. He was one of the Screamer jockeys that escorted my transport around Terra."

"You fought in _Terra?"_ Quistis awed. She placed her leather palms on her hips. "You're putting me on!"

With a shrug, Irvine carelessly grasped the blue vest under his trench coat. He pulled it down some, and leaned to Quistis. Under his collarbone, a pale circular scar was lifted from the right side of his chest. "See?" he smiled, and pulled the vest back up.

Quistis raised an eyebrow. "Well, I'll be darned! Wow, what's it...like there?" She slouched a bit, and tried to imitate Irvine's careless stance. She succeeded in becoming rather uncomfortable-looking.

"Uh...nice, real nice." Irvine straightened his posture a bit, and pulled up his trench coat some. "Don't remember most of the details, though. Had a bad reaction to the stab."

"Egh," Quistis cringed, rubbing below her own neck. "That must've been horrible. That stab."

Irvine chuckled a bit, and exhaled. "The _stab _was _nothing,_" he sighed. He sat in silence for a moment, but soon perked up. "But hey, I digress! Anyway, that's where I was. How 'bout you?"

Quistis smiled feebly, and slapped her knees. "Just at Balamb. I'm instructor again, so I'm keeping busy. Now that I'm the only one of us left there, people kinda look up to me."

"That's cool. Gettin' the treatment, eh?"

"Oh, in the worst way!" She laughed a little, and slumped back on the bench. "Sometimes I'd just like to run away from that place."

Irvine raised an eyebrow. "What'd you _rather_ do?"

"Oh, I dunno," she trailed. But she thought, _this, this is what I'd like to do._

---

Aren looked over Devon's shriveled arm, carefully running his thumb over the muscles. "You know," he said, "I had a buddy once that got the same deal to his arm. From an X-12 and everything."

"Oh yeah?" Devon replied, pulling his sleeve back down as Aren released.

"Yeah. Tell you what though, soldier, us Terrans are fighters." He patted Devon on the back. "My pal recovered just fine. I've got confidence that you will too."

The boy smiled, and saluted with his good arm. "Thank you, sir!"

Aren returned a professional salute. He noticed Selphie stand, and he did the same. "Good to meet you, Devon. Now hurry up and heal that thing, soldier! We gotta get you in a Screamer!"

"Yes, sir! Thank you, sir! Oh, bye Seffie!"

Selphie gave Devon a hug, and Aren heard her recieve some mumblings from Devon to the effect of, "not in front of my superior!" Selphie nodded, and she and Aren headed for the tent's entrance.

"Aren," she smiled, "that was really sweet of you."

Aren grinned. "He seems like a good kid, he just needs the drive. Maybe that'll motivate him a little."

"A _little?_ He thought the world of you!" She poked him in the ribs. "And that bit about the 'soldier' was really cute, too!"

"Eh, I guess..." Aren shrugged. "Why?"

"Oh, come on! Devon's ten years old!"

A solemn nod from Aren. "Yeah, I guess you're right," he replied. "He's got a couple of years yet."

Selphie double-taked, as they stepped once again into daylight. "You...you're serious?"

"Sure," Aren half-smiled. "That's Terra. I was in a Screamer at fourteen. If he was in Terra, .he'd probably do the same. Only if he enlisted, that is."

"You...you fought _wars?_ At _fourteen?"_

Aren nodded, as if there was nothing abnormal about this.

"Whoa," Selphie sighed. "Talk about skipping your _childhood!"_

"Come on! I had a _great_ childhood!" Aren laughed, and brushed forward his long hair. "I mean, while my buddies in Dollet had their little dirtbikes, I was tearin' up the streets in a _Screamer!"_

She looked up, and forced a smile for him. She watched him force one back.

---


	12. Advances and Acquaintances

---

] _Mindless_

] New Haven Industrial District

] Extronic City

The hypnotic rhythm of post-meltcore style dance music pounded the walls of _Mindless._ Dizzied partiers threw themselves about a circular, multi-level dance floor, gyrating to the flashes of strobe lights and the pulse of the beat. Those too tired, drugged or aroused to dance were collapsed on ragged sofas in lounges sectioned off from the dance areas.

Seifer Almasy reclined at one such loveseat. His sandy blonde hair was set neatly in place, and his heavy black pants and vest were without a wrinkle. His lightly-tanned arms were bare, and ended in a pair of black leather gloves. A folded silver trench coat propped his head comfortably.

A petite young lady stood before him, her hands at her bare hips. Her skin was dark almond, her hair pure white. Big brown eyes were bloodshot and glassy. She wore, or barely wore, a revealing white dress, low-cut and torn from some agressive dancing. Her slender legs showed through the fabric as she swayed to the music.

Seifer slowly looked her over. "You gonna sit down," he asked, "or not?" His voice carried a trace of hoarseness as he spoke over the music.

The young lady brought a determined frown to her pretty face, and shook her head. "Listen, buddy," she quipped flirtatiously, her voice slightly slurred by some chemical substance. "I think you're going just a _little_ fast, here!"

"So what?" Seifer folded his hands.

"Well," she batted her eyes, "you don't even know my _name!"_

"I don't care." Seifer's thin eyes focused on hers. "Neither do you. Quit stalling and have a seat."

She swung her hips closer, and smiled. "You sure don't waste time, do you? Come on, let's make it last! One more dance...please?"

Once again, Seifer stared down her curvaceous figure. "I don't think so," he replied.

The beautiful girl leaned forward, and touched noses with him. "Well," she breathed, "I came here to dance! So I'll be out on the floor, and whenever you're ready, you can..."

Seifer unfolded his arms, and placed his gloved palm on her cheek. A dim glow permeated the black leather, growing in intensity with every split second. Sparks of beautiful shining energy shot forth, as the brightness from his hand shone over the girl's face. Her smile slowly faded, and her chocolate eyes grew distant. She exhaled an airy sigh, and swayed lightly from side to side, glassy eyes glowing with the beautiful energy.

Seifer tugged on her shoulder, and she gently fell before him on the sofa. He kissed her open mouth. His gloved hands carefully loosened her dress, and slid it down to her waist.

A burly staff member in black pants and white shirt pointed his way. "Hey!" he growled, "rules are rules! Take that somewhere else!"

Seifer's blue eyes thinned, as he wrapped his arms around the young lady's bare stomach. He glanced the way of the staff member, and quietly sneered, "Fira."

A powerful explosion pounded the air in front of the staffer. He screamed in pain and stumbled away, ablaze from the spell, and fell backward over a three-foot high metal fence. A trail of fire and smoke sizzled behind as he fell two stories, to the dance floor below. Delirious dancers cleared away for a moment, but soon regained their pleasure.

Leaning forward to the entranced young lady, he placed a kiss on her almond neck, and tasted her skin, and the beads of sweat that had formed from her dancing.

But he noticed another man watching, and standing where the staff member once had. His skin was pale white, with stripes of blue running down his cheeks. Shining blue hair was formed into bunches of curved spikes. He was taller than Seifer, and much more muscular, although about his age. A vest of steel adorned his chest. Light reflected from the shining surface every time the blackbulbs flashed, and pained Seifer's eyes. The stranger's white jacket and blue jeans were rather warm clothes for the hot club. He stood with his hands folded, just the way Seifer had done only moments ago.

Seifer kissed kissed the young lady again. "I'll kill you too," he muttered to the stranger. "Get lost."

The blue-haired man shook his head, and approached Seifer and the naked girl. He spoke with a deep, powerful voice. "Zaryn sent me. It can't wait."

Blonde eyebrows angled at the mention of Commander Zaryn. "Fine, sit down," he growled.

A nod, and the stranger carefully took a seat beside the two. "Mikaell Midas," he said, his eyes on the dance floor before him. "GDS Special Forces. I'm delivering a message directly from Zaryn. The dispatch team failed to kill Bowes and his party."

"Not my problem," Seifer replied, massaging the hypnotized dancer's back.

Midas shook his head. "Is now. We've both been assigned as Omega Recourse. Looks like we're going to Trabia."

"Fine. Wonderful. Nice to meet you, _go away."_

"No can do, Almasy," Midas shook his head. "A transport is waiting outside for each of us. We leave for the train station now. Zaryn's orders."

Seifer glanced at Midas' dark eyes. "Yeah, well, I leave when I _want _to leave." He pulled the limp girl close.

Midas stood, and two beautiful young ladies approached him. Both were completely nude. Their gazes were distant, and they swayed hypnotically as they stepped, spellbound, across the concrete floor to his side. Eyes glimmered with a soft, gentle light.

"Bring her along," Midas said dryly. "You get your own quarters, and it's a long ride to Trabia."

---


	13. BloodStained Ruins

a/n: This took forever to write...and it's not even good!! =) Totally blocked on this fic. My bad!! I think I'm getting back into the groove though, there's more coming soon.

~

"So, what exactly do you need to see?" Selphie glanced up to Aren, as the foursome of SeeDs strolled down Xann Avenue.

Aren pointed to the giant Garden ruins, towering some distance away. "I'll need to set up a tripod in the Main Hall," he replied. "Just a second's worth of processing, and we'll be done. Shouldn't take me long."

Irvine waved Aren's way, as he walked beside Quistis. His trench coat blew some in the wind. "Ain't much of a bother to me," he shrugged.

He glanced nonchalantly in Quistis' direction. _I'm doin' just fine right here, _he thought.

"Me either," Quistis nodded. "I'm just happy to be out of Balamb for a change!"

Her eyes made a casual shift toward Irvine. _Did he just look at me?_ she thought._ No, of course not! Of course not._

"...Besides," she finally continued, "it's nice to see Trabia again."

Selphie laughed. "You're _kidding,_ right?"

The group raised heads toward the sky, as lightning stabbed through darkening clouds. Dusk was quickly falling on Trabia, and from the looks of it, a thunderstorm as well.

Aren raised his thin eyebrows. "We'd better hurry up," he said.

Irvine examined the neighborhood, as Aren and Selphie doubled their step. Somehow, the buildings looked _more_ run-down, almost twice as ruined as those near the medical tent. Few buildings even existed as whole; the street was lined with barely-standing walls and piles of steel and concrete. Citizens were dressed in filthy rags. They huddled about fires in steel barrels, as cold wind whipped threateningly at the flame.

Whaddaya know, he pondered, _even a dead city has a bad neighborhood or two._ He cooly reached into his coat, and slipped a few shells into the shotgun that hung from the inside.

Quistis grasped the handle of her chain-whip, as it dangled in neat loops from her belt. _This is not the best of places to be caught in the dark._

As they passed, a group of young men looked up from their fire barrel. They were dressed in torn industrial coveralls, filthy and overworn. A belt hung from each's waist, and contained several weapons.

One of the men, bony-looking and bald-headed, raised an arm and formed a deep scowl. "Tilmitt!" he screamed, a whiny, high-pitched sound.

Aren was the first to turn. He immediately faced the half-dozen gang members, and folded his arms, staring behind his opaque military goggles. Irvine and Quistis nearly jumped; they responded next, their hands eager to retrieve a weapon.

But Selphie was last to address the caller. She turned to him slowly and rigidly, and gave a feeble wave. Her reply came shakily. "H-Hello, Mede..."

The skinny leader pounded his fist in his palm. "Aw, ain't this just nice! Back from another _vacation,_ eh?"

"No...no, I w-was trying...to get funding...for the city!"

Irvine had a careful look at each of the gang members. _They've all got electric prods and knives, _he thought. _And semi-auto pistols, too. Except for the leader, his looks like some kind of submachine gun. We gotta take him down first._

Quistis silently performed _Scan _on the members. _No magic,_ she thought. _But they're strong against physical attacks. Looks like they're wearing fairly strong armor. My magic's too slow...maybe I can pierce it with my whip..._

Mede scoffed at Selphie. "You know what? Shut up with the _funding _already! We're frickin' _sick_ of it, Tilmitt! We're sick of watchin' you walk out on us every damned _time _so you can _whore _around the frickin' _globe!"_

Aren bared his teeth in a deeply-carved scowl. He slowly lowered his arms to the sides of his black coat.

With a quick double-pop, Mede unsnapped the holster on a long strap, stretched across his chest from shoulder to waist. He raised a beaten submachine-gun. The gang members emulated his action, and unholstered their pistols.

"P-please, Mede!" Selphie cried, stepping back, and frantically looking this way and that. "We didn't do anything!"

"Looka-you," he sneered, pointing the thick barrel of his gun. "And you used to be SeeD. You's a disgrace. You ain't gettin' off my turf alive." His free hand locked a small clip into the side of his weapon.

Irvine threw his trench coat open, retrieved his shotgun and quickly snapped it to aim. But he noticed his foes react not to his action, but to Aren's beside him. Aren had readied a fully-automatic Galbadian Hellcaster. He cradled the stocky, squarelike weapon with both hands. A long, heavily-padded stock wrapped around his jacketed forearm. Under the Hellcaster, a long banana clip was firmly attached.

"Weapons on the ground, now!" he growled. Irvine listened to his friend, and laughed. Dispite being outnumbered two to one, this imposing fellow had managed to intimidate the enemy with only his stance and a quick shout.

Selphie gasped, and nearly fell to the ground. "Oh _Hyne!" _she screamed, with a shaking hand pointed to the broken sidewalk.

Quistis quickly turned to investigate. At the base of the gang's fire barrel lay an old man and two children. The man wore a de-radiation suit; the children were dressed in ragged playclothes. Their bodies were slashed and bloodied.

"That's gonna be _you, _Tilmitt," smiled Mede, growing back his confidence. He stared at Aren's pointed Hellcaster. "Yeah, dat's right! We did 'at! Hacked 'em up _real _good! Whatchyou gonna do 'bout it?"

Aren's head turned slightly toward the sidewalk, but quickly returned to his foe. "Weapons on the _ground,"_ he repeated solemnly. "Nobody's gotta die here."

"Oh, whatchyou gonna do wit _dat, _eh city-boy?" Mede stepped forward. "You ain't gonna shoot me! You prob'ly ain't never shot a gun in your life!"

Irvine thinned his eyes. _He's stalling. Must be nervous, or they'd all have shot us up by now._

Mede laughed. "Ain't _nobody _knows how 'ta shoot a Hellcaster 'round here!"

Aren lightly squeezed the Hellcaster's trigger. Four laser sights crossed at Mede's chest. The gang leader's eyes widened, and his smile disappeared. He slowly brought down his gun.

But Mede brought it back up. He squeezed the trigger hard, and the submachine-gun's muzzle blared with fire. 

Irvine heard a single shot leave the weapon. He watched as Aren grunted sharply, his right shoulder jerking back. Aren quickly fired the Hellcaster. The volley of shells ripped through a violent muzzle flash, and thunderous claps pounded the air. Mede was not a pretty sight.

Irvine was already moving. He dove behind an unlit fire barrel, discharging both shells from his double-barrel chambers. Only one gang member fell, clutching his arm.

Quistis grabbed Selphie by the arm and dragged her to the opposing sidewalk. Revolver bullets pounded a rusted car, as they dove for refuge behind it. Quistis calmed herself and cleared her mind.

Ping-ping, bullets collided with Irvine's barrel as he broke his shotgun. He knocked the spent shells from the chamber, and slid fresh ones back into place. Across the street, Aren was crouched behind a crumbling building wall. He turned to Irvine and spoke. And though their distance was rather great and the gang weapons were firing, Irvine could hear him perfectly.

Irvine, there's only four left! Two on the left are close. Let's run 'All or Nothing!'

"Aw, man!" Irvine sighed. "I hate that plan!"

Aren shook a rousing fist. _We gotta finish this so I can stop the bleeding. I'll get your back!_

"You're the boss," shrugged Irvine. "On three!"

One, two...

Aren raised his arm sharply. A banshee scream filled the air as a powerful soundwave knocked into Irvine's fire barrel. It sent the steel barrel flying, and pounding into a gang member.

Irvine came up shooting. Both barrels fired again, and he was able to wound two of his enemies. He heard Aren's Hellcaster growl behind him, and watched the third blasted off his feet.

Quistis peeked to the side of the old automobile. Aren shouted in pain, and halted firing, collapsing to the ground. Irvine's gun was empty, and the fourth gang member was taking quick aim.

Irvine stared down the revolver's barrel. "Aren, kill him!"

Bright light flared amid the dark street. A searing lightning bolt fell from the sky and struck the attacker, jolting him in a stupor. Aren looked quickly up, and leapt to his feet, charging him full-force. The Hellcaster swung above Aren's head, and slammed the gang member unconscious.

Quistis ran from her spot, once again dragging Selphie. "Aren, are you all right?" she called.

Aren sighed angrily and stood. "I'm sorry," he shook his head to Irvine. "Too much strain. Couldn't keep it up."

But Irvine was paying little attention. He pointed to Quistis, dumbfounded. "You...you've got a Guardian Force?"

"Um...yes..." she replied. "It's a long story..."  


Selphie grasped Aren by the shoulders and looked him over. Her eyes stopped at his right arm. His coat was torn and spotted with blood.

She gasped and stepped away, her hysterical eyes meeting his calm visage. "_Hyne, Aren! _Are you...are you..."

He nodded, and smiled a little, pulling up his right sleeve. On his forearm was the metal healing clasp, and it glowed in crude operation. "It _works!" _he announced.

---

Aren sat on the floor of a small, windowless room. Its four walls were plain and uninviting drywall, cracked and splintered in many places. A door at the far end was shut, but not locked. Beside Aren was a small oak dresser. Across from him, on a small and worn-out bed, Irvine lay with his hat over his face.

"I can't believe I dropped like that," said Aren. He adjusted a small bandage on his upper arm, and rolled down the sleeve to his dark red sweatshirt.

Irvine covered his ears. "I can't believe you won't _shut up!"_ he laughed. "Like, it's cool, man! I'm fine, everybody else's fine. 'Sall good."

"Still, that just ain't right. You think I need another stab?"

"Nah," Irvine shrugged. "It's just been a while since you last took a bullet." He laughed and raised his hat, pointing it to Aren. "Believe it or don't, getting shot is _not _an everyday occurrence!"

Aren smiled and leaned against the wall. "Heh, not anymore. Well, the bullet's dissolved, I think. Don't feel it in there anymore."

"Good," yawned Irvine. "See you tomorrow."

He tossed his hat to the lightswitch by the old wooden door, and the room went pitch black. Silence filled the air. But sadly, it did not last long, for Aren's voice broke it wide open.

"I wonder if it was all those Potions that Selphie gave me! I'm not used to taking those..."

"Aren?" said Irvine.

"Yeah?"

"Shove it."

Aren nodded in the dark. "Right, right. Goodnight."

"Goodnight!" laughed Irvine.

Once again, the peaceful silence returned. But it was also short-lived, thanks to Aren.

"Irvine?"

"What?"

"I need a drink of water!"

Irvine jumped to his feet. "Aren, you want _another _hole shot through that arm of yours?"

"Okay, fine!" Aren laughed. "Can't even take a joke! Geez!"

---

Quistis placed a tiny red pill on her tongue, and sipped at a glass of water. She swallowed, and set the cup atop the dresser beside her. "That's that," she sighed.

Selphie sat on the bed, in a room that looked identical to Aren and Irvine's. "Wow," she smirked, "I can't believe you've got a Guardian Force!"

"Uh-huh," said Quistis. "If you ask me, though, it's not worth it. All the shots and pills I've had to take...quite an experience."

"Egh," Selphie cringed. "No fun. But at least you've got your magic!" She half-laughed, and dropped her head some.

"Yeah, I suppose."

Quistis stretched, and sighed. She glanced down at her timepiece. "Selphie," she asked, "do you mind if I go for a little walk? I'm not tired."

Selphie raised a smile. "Sure, they don't care around here. You're safe. Well, you would be _anyway, _with _Ifrit _on your side!"

"Thanks," replied Quistis, and she quietly opened the creaky door.

---

Aren stepped into the dark, cramped hallway, and gently shut the door behind him. He tapped at the side of his goggles, adjusting his vision to account for the darkness.

Quistis slipped from her room. As she slid the door closed, the lights inside went out. She tiptoed down the hall as quietly as her clapping boots would allow.

They met halfway, and exchanged glances. Aren's visor and Quistis' thinly sloped eyes both seemed indifferent, but both SeeDs smiled as they reached each other.

Aren nodded professionally, Quistis did the same. They quickly shook hands and proceeded on.

---

Selphie's door slowly opened, and Aren peeked his head inside. "Selphie?" he whispered.

He could see her in the shadows, hunched over on the bed. Her head was bowed forward, cradled in her hands. She slowly raised it, and turned to him. "Oh, hi, Aren."

"Did I wake you?" he asked, though he knew he had not.

"Oh, no! No, come in."

Aren nodded, and stepped inside. He pulled the goggles from his eyes, placing them in his pocket, and approached her bed. "Thanks for introducing me to your friends today," he said, as he sat at her side.

But Selphie was silent for a change. She sighed deeply and clenched her fists.

Aren gently lay his palm on her shaking hand. "You know, I understand. I really do."

"Oh, Aren, it's...it's _impossible!"_ she blurted. "They won't put _any_ effort into rebuilding...and I leave to get them some money...and they call me a _traitor!"_

The pale young man was silent. His ghostly eyes stared across the room, at the dark wall, at nothing in particular. His hand was firmly on Selphie's. And he sighed solemnly, as she gnashed her teeth and pulled her hair.

"They _hate _me! The adults call me a mercenary, the teens call me a whore...even the _kids _hate me sometimes! 'Why don't you stay, Seffie? Don't you care?' And when I _do _come back...they all wanna _kill me! _Aren, I can't even come _home!"_

Aren's hand gently touched her cheek, and wiped her tears. Selphie felt the smooth metal of his palm streak down to her chin. She raised her misty green eyes, and they met with the pure grey of her friend's. 

Selphie saw so much in Aren's eyes. She saw an earnest and good nature, and an eagerness to serve. She saw the experience of many hard-fought battles, and of the hardest battle of all, that of life. But most of all, she saw a young man. A teenager, tortured by some untimely tragedy that robbed him of so many things, and changed him in ways she could barely understand.

"I know what it's like," he whispered. "It's awful."

Selphie turned her eyes, and forced a cheery smile. "I...I'm sorry, Aren, I don't really get this way often. I guess I'm...just under a lot of stress, that's all. Didn't mean to kinda vent that all on you."

"Hey," he grinned, and guided her back to his eyes. "That's what I'm here for."

"To listen to me whine?" she chuckled, drying her eyes with the end of her bedsheets.

"Yeah, to listen to you whine. _Selphie Stratagem, _how's that sound?"

Selphie laughed, and leaned against him. Aren gently lay his arms about her waist. He glanced from her smiling face for just a moment, and in his mind he panicked. He had worn a short-sleeved shirt, and his pale forearms were marred with long white scars.

Selphie showed a quiet concern. "Is something wrong?" she asked.

Aren returned to her face, and once again he smiled. "No, nothing."

The beautiful girl rested her head on his chest. "I'm here for you, too," she whispered, "if something's bothering you."

"Well," said Aren, looking down on his friend. "I'd tell you all about it, but I can't seem to remember what it was."

~

"Well," said Quistis, propping herself against the wall. "Wasn't _that _something!"

Irvine chuckled, and stretched on the bed. "Yeah, haven't seen action like that since me an' Aren hit up the Fourth Bridge!"

She half-smiled, and raised her eyes. "Um...good times?"

"Eh, I guess. It's kinda hard to say, you know?" He yawned. "Yeah, but I digress. How'd you get your GF back? I thought you didn't wanna take the risk."

"I don't," Quistis replied. "They've got me on some chemicals that are supposed to keep my memory intact."

Irvine raised a dark eyebrow. "They've tested this stuff, right?"

"Well," she chuckled, "on me."

"Hey, you be careful what they're giving you! I just got you back, I'm not gonna watch you flip out on some crazy drugs!"

What does he mean by that? thought Quistis. But she smiled coolly, as she always did, and nodded his way. "Thanks, I'll be just fine."

---

"I hope you don't mind, Selphie. But I prayed for them tonight."

Aren sat in Selphie's bed, his grey eyes shining smoothly in the darkness. Selphie lay in his arms, carefully wrapped in the ragged sheets and quilts. Her head rested against his chest, and her green eyes and smile reached up for him.

"The...the victims?" she said. "Why would I mind? Boy, it's just horrible. I prayed too."

"Yeah," said Aren. "The victims, them and that Mede."

Selphie blinked her heavy eyes. "Mede? You...you prayed for Mede?"

"Mm-hmm."

"But...but Aren! He's a killer!"

Aren looked into her eyes. "_I'm _a killer," he said. "Maybe Hyne doesn't see us any differently."

Selphie's auburn hair brushed against his shirt, as she shook her head defiantly. "Aren, I'm sorry it happened too...but, you saved our lives! You're a hero."

"I used to think so," he replied. When he closed his eyes, their shine left the room, and it grew darker. "When I was younger, and I first joined the army. I thought I was everybody's hero. But you know what? You know what it all boils down to? There's no good guy, no bad guy. Everybody's got a reason for what they do. We're just people, killing each other. I'm well-convinced Hyne hates me."

Aren's grey eyes opened again, and bathed the bed in a dull glow. Selphie had never lost her gaze.

"I don't think so," she smiled. "I think...maybe Hyne understands."

With her words, her eyes, and her smile pointed his way, Aren could do nothing but smile back. "Maybe," he said.

~


	14. Screamer

---

Seifer stepped from the train's metal stairs, and into the cold Trabia night. He cracked his leather-gloved knuckles. The ruins of a Garden and the struggling city around it were barely lit, nestled within the shadows of a tall mountain ring.

Mikael Midas followed his steps, and glanced back at the heavy-armored train car. "You go around pullin' _that _kind of crap," he said hoarsely, "and your friends'll smell us from a mile away."

Seifer sneered a laugh. "Midas, you're dead _wrong."_

Midas cocked an eye, as another train blasted through the station behind them. "How so?"

"They're a bunch of frickin' losers. Washed up." The hyperion-emblazoned trench coat blew behind him as he spoke, combatting the loudness of the mighty train. "They haven't fought a decent battle in two years. They're not junctioned, and none of 'em even get sent on missions anymore."

"Hmm," nodded Midas. "I thought they were good SeeD."

"Were good SeeD. _Were. _Trust me, you're taking this way too seriously."

Midas shrugged. "I'm just goin' on what I was told, that's all."

"Yeah, well they told _me _that Aren Bowes is a skilled soldier."

It was Midas' turn to scoff. "Maybe if you're a rookie GDS trooper." He proudly thumbed his chest. "I've been around a little longer than that. I'll break his neck like a toothpick."

"See? Never trust another man's account of the situation. Especially if he sits at a frickin' _desk _all day reading papers."

They stepped from the side of the tracks, and headed for the lonely ticket window. Seifer glanced to Midas, and grabbed his white jacket by the arm. "And Midas," he raised an eyebrow.

Midas raised one back, and stared defiantly.

"You question me one more time, and I'll break _your _neck."

The blue-haired assassin nodded, and Seifer released his arm.

---

] Xann Avenue

] Garden District

] Trabia

Quistis slowly opened the door to Selphie's little apartment. Light flooded into the windowless cell of a bedroom. Aren Bowes sat with his back propped against the small bed's headboard. He was still clothed from the previous night, in black pants and a deep crimson sweatshirt. Selphie lay asleep and lightly smiling, wrapped in the bed's blankets, with her head against his chest.

Bowes lifted his head and looked into the soft light, and Quistis bit her lip. But this time around, the young man seemed more inviting. His grey eyes, however thin, were not threatening. "Good morning," he whispered, with a nod and a quick smile.

"Hello Aren," said Quistis. "Sorry to wake you. But Irvine's outside, and he needs to see us all right away. He said it was urgent."

He nodded, and gently ruffled at Selphie's hair. "Hey," he nudged her, "come on, wake up."

Selphie took several moments to shake the sleep off, but Aren seemed wide awake, and more alert even than Quistis. _Wow, _she thought, _and I've had a few cups of coffee too! Guess he's a morning person._

She led the two down a series of steep, cracking wooden stairwells, to the lobby of the abandoned apartment that was Selphie's residence in Trabia. Quistis opened the creaky old door, and they stepped into the early sunrise of morning.

Amid the broken concrete of Xann Avenue were three low, bulky Screamer cycles. They were longer and wider than any normal motorcycle. In fact, one was longer than two street bikes placed end-to-end, and a Screamer was wide enough to take up half of the Trabian street. Its two tires were thicker than even those of the Dollet Mili-Car transports. Thick metal armor extended around its tightly enclosed cockpit. It rode only inches off the ground. It was an intimidating vehicle, even dormant. Quistis had heard of the craft, and even seen the scaled-down Screamers once used by the Galbadian Army, but never one of this size and presence.

The three Screamer pilots stood by their rides, with metal-plated suits and squarish helmets. They peered at Quistis from behind long slits in the silver masks. Irvine stood beside them, and waved with a smile for her to approach.

Quistis turned to her friends. Selphie was as puzzled as she, but Bowes' face was lit like a halogen floodlamp.

"Who are they?" asked Quistis.

"Terran soldiers!" replied Bowes. "Where'd _they _come from?!"

He led Quistis and Selphie to Irvine and the soldiers. Irvine gestured to the center pilot. "These gentlemen would like a word with you, Aren," he said, rather dramatically.

The soldier's slit-eyes filled with a blue glow. "Aren Bowes?" he called, with a deep and echoed voice. "Aren Bowes, Tenth Screamer Division."

"I am," nodded Bowes.

The soldier brought his arm quickly up. He held a flat-ended handgun, and squeezed the handle with a metal glove. The gun cocked itself, with an efficient _click-click._

Bowes raised his own hand, and opened his empty palm. A powerful _screech _pierced the air. The Screamer pilot was knocked forward, and the handgun flung away. Bowes grasped it tightly. He brought it to his chest, and quickly manipulated a few buttons on its side. The three dormant Screamers buzzed to life. Long weapons pods slid open from their sides, and pointed at each of the soldiers threateningly.

The once-attacker rose from the ground, and stood still for a moment. But he suddenly curled forward, laughing with his deep metal voice, and slapping his armored knee. Irvine did the same. Quistis squinted nervously, and ushered Selphie behind her.

The soldier pulled off his square helmet. His pale head was bald and lined with white scars. Eyes were big and beady and stared imposingly at Bowes, set back behind sharp eyebrows. A thin and pointed nose pointed his way.

And below the man's nose was a sight that made Quistis gasp. His lower jawbone was exposed. The mandible hung, glistening white, from a series of wires and tiny hydraulics that attached to his fleshy cheek. His smile was grotesque, as his upper lip slid across metal teeth encased in the jaw bone. Quistis lowered her eyes and coughed uneasily, squinting with an uneven frown.

But Aren burst into a shout. He threw the pistol to the ground and ran for the disfigured trooper, grasping his arm and patting him on the back. "Snap!" he cried. "Hyne, I can't _believe_ it!"

The man laughed his deep laugh and bearhugged Bowes. "Aren, you son o' the sorceress!" he growled. "Aw, Hyne man! I can't believe you ain't _killed _yourself! What wit' you bumpin' into walls an' all that!"

Aren scoffed, grabbed the bony jaw and gave it a tug. "Yeah? Well at least I can chew my _food," _he laughed, and shoved Snap away. Irvine chuckled and shook his head.

This is sick! thought Quistis, wheezing and holding her stomach. She turned around. Selphie seemed to share the sentiment, covering her eyes with a grimace.

Bowes shouted their way, and insisted they come. His grey eyes adjusted frantically as he spoke. "Snaps, these are my friends Selphie and Quistis. And ladies, _this _is the bravest Screamer jockey in the Hyne-forsaken _world! _Me and Irvine fought alongside this guy a _thousand times!"_

The newcomer gave a surprisingly calm hand to Quistis. She focused on the handshake; only barely looked up as he introduced himself. "Snap Gesson," he called proudly, "at your service as long as you ain't shootin' at me!"

Quistis took surprise, as Gesson turned to Selphie. She stared his horrid smile full-on, and gave her winningest back. They stared down for seconds; far better than Quistis could have stood. And to her dismay, it was Selphie who firmly grasped Snap's arm, and gave it a vigorous shake.

"Great to meet you, Mister Gesson!" she said, admiring his weapon-laiden battle armor. "Wow, Aren's got the coolest friends!"

Gesson laughed heartily. "Yeah, well he's sure known for it in _Terra, _that's for sure. But that's a story for another time. An' call me Snap!"

He set his fellow soldiers at ease, and started down the broken Xann Avenue with the party of SeeDs. "We've got some catchin' up to do, man!" He pounded his fists together. "I finally made SVM Commander! Just in time, too, or I wouldn'a been able to come on this mission!"

"Hey, congrats!" replied Bowes. "How come you're up here, anyway?"

Gesson lowered his voice a bit, and stopped in the street. "It...it ain't government business. I used my position to pull some strings. Kore sent for ya'."

"Master _Kore _sent for me?"

"Sure did. I can't say much here. But you ain't safe, Aren. You _or _your buddies. You gotta get out of this town, and I mean _now."_

Irvine thinned his eyes. "Snap, are you saying there's a hit on us?"

"It's a little more than a _hit, _bro," Snap returned with a chortle. "What'd you do, kill an ambassador or somethin'?"

Selphie glanced to Quistis, and cocked her head in confusion. Quistis shrugged.

"Oh," Snap halted himself. "Before we get too far from the bikes. Almost forgot." He raised his hands, and cleared his throats. "This is an official high-security escort. Please hurry to the screamer pilots as quickly as possible, women and the unarmed first. The pilots are here for your protection; do not be afraid. You will be taken to a place where your safety can be guaranteed."

He turned to Bowes. "How'd I do?" he asked.

"Very professional!" said Aren.

Another glance from Selphie, and another shrug from Quistis. But she thinned her eyes this time, and stared at the newcomer with concern.

---


	15. Approaching the Jumper

I'm finding lately that I've got way too much explaining to do with this story, and it's dragging too long. Sorry! We'll get into some of the good stuff soon, I promise!!

---

Snap and his Screamer wingmen had given the SeeDs time to gather their belongings, which was easy, since they were barely unpacked as it was. Selphie and Quistis questioned the situation and the gruesome newcomer. But Aren and Irvine assured them that they knew Snap and trusted his word. And if Snap and his men had come all the way from their Terran base, Aren had said, then the SeeDs must have been in real danger. But still, the immediacy of the whole thing left many questions unanswered.

A tall, wide and angular armored vehicle was their transport to who-knows-where. By the time they were packed, it was waiting for them on Xann Avenue. Another imposing Terran machine, its stance was like that of a tank. But it carried an unfamiliar air in its design. Something about it suggested the unknown, the exotic, and perhaps the virtuous.

The transport's interior was a direct contrast to its cold steel armor. It was inviting and comfortable, though by no means luxurious. It was a military vehicle, after all. Perhaps Snap had gotten hold of a high-ranking official's personal car, Aren had suggested with a laugh.

The transport had been on the move for what seemed an hour. Again the SeeDs were without windows, and had long lost their bearings. But the Terran vehicle was far less claustrophobic than the awful Galbadian security train. Irvine and Selphie reclined on one of two long, bench-like seats that ran the length of their room in the transport. Quistis was stretched on the floor, running the point of her chain whip through the carpet.

A door at the far end of the car clicked, and swung open. Aren appeared from behind, and the SeeDs gave attention. They got a quick view of the pilot and navigator's cockpit, devoid of a windshield, and completely dark. Computer screens gave the drivers their needed directions.

"Well," Aren smiled, closing the door. "I talked with the pilots. I think I've got us some answers."

"Good!" said Quistis anxiously, "let's hear it."

Aren nodded. "Here's the deal so far. Apparently, someone's had us marked for assassination since we left Garden. They're not sure who. But it has something to do with my Trabia Stratagem."

"Someone's trying to keep us quiet?" asked Selphie.

"Looks like," Aren replied. He brushed forward his long locks, and sat down beside Quistis. "As it turns out, my old instructor, Kore, has been working on the Stratagem as well. And there's been an attempt on his life as well. He did some digging and found out that there were two assassins en route to Trabia. They're probably in the city now."

"I knew it!" Irvine snapped his finger. "I could have sworn someone was watching us at the train station in Balamb!"

Selphie bit her lip. "There's...there's _killers...following_ us?!" she cried.

Aren sighed. "Yeah, they were. And that's why Snap's here. He's got orders to bring us to the nearest Terra jumper. They won't be able to follow us through, whoever they are. We'll try and get to the bottom of this when we reach Gate Four."

Irvine nodded. "Sure beats taking a train back to Galbadia. We'd be spotted for sure."

Selphie tugged nervously at her short auburn hair. "Wait...can we go through that once more? All I got was the 'assassins wanna kill Selphie' part..."

Irvine patted her on the shoulder. "Oh, you can relax _now! _See, here's the thing: The Terrans found out Aren was in trouble, so they sent us all protection. This transport is taking us to a jumper gate, and we're gonna spend a few days in Terra until things cool off."

"Really?!" Selphie lit up. "Wow, this'll be great! Are you sure we'll be safe? How long will it take? What's a jumper?"

"Does Garden know about this?" asked Quistis, the telltale icy stare prying at Aren.

"Not yet," he replied, "but we'll send a transmission when we get to the jumper. Remember, you're marked for assassination, too. I'm just making sure we all get taken care of."

She stared a few moments more, and finally nodded. "It's just sudden, that's all. No offense."

Aren gave her a nod, and the SeeDs sat quietly for a few minutes, listening to the ground rumble under the mighty transport vehicle. But it was Quistis who spoke once again.

"So," she trailed. "Who's your friend?"

Irvine laughed. "You just won't stop, will you, babe? Take it easy!"

"Nah," said Aren, "I totally understand. He's quite an imposing guy. Not very good at first impressions."

Selphie cut in, unconsciously. "Well, how _could _you be when your..." She noticed Aren glance up and smile, and she gave an embarrassed giggle and trailed off. "You know, the...uh, with the...nevermind..."

"He fought in my strike group during the Gate Attacks. He was injured in battle, that's why he looks that way. I guess I'm just used to it. But don't worry, you sure can't hurt his feelings!"

"Yeah," said Irvine. "Real good guy. Heart of gold." He pointed a finger at Quistis. "Likes to goof around, though. Not your type."

She smiled and rolled her eyes. "Cute."

"Really? _Snap? _Wow, I knew your standards were low, but that's just..."

"Hey!" Selphie whined, and punched Irvine in the shoulder.

---

] Headmaster's Office

] Galbadia Garden

] Galbadia

Headmaster Rade sat at his desk, his attention to the viewscreen before him. The visage of Seifer Almasy stared back at him coldly.

"Why aren't they dead?" Rade demanded.

Almasy half-yawned and casually took a breath, obviously choosing his words. "It looks, sir, as though they've been kidnapped. Taken to somewhere in Terra."

"By whom?" Rade cried. "Certainly not Garden! Hyne, it better not have been _Garden!"_

"No," said Almasy. "And not the military. Our guess is it was a friend of Bowes. You know of Kore, sir?"

The headmaster nodded. "Of course. We killed him."

"No. He survived." A breeze blew Almasy's blond locks over his scarred face, and he brushed them back. "And he killed the assassins."

Rade heaved a nervous sigh. "This is _way _out of hand...they could know _everything _by now...they could have me sent away any _day!"_

"Relax, sir," Seifer drolled. "It just so happens that my current associate, Mikael Midas, is a Terran. He'll get us through the jumper and into Terra. The SeeDs and Kore will be dead by the next check-in."

"They'd _better," _said Rade. "I'm trusting you as Omega Recourse, Almasy. Get the job done or someone else will."

Seifer's thin eyes glared imposingly, but he kept his professional tone. "Sir, you couldn't find a better hitman if you tried."

Rade nodded; he knew it. But he had expected Almsy to make his move quicker. Time was running out, Rade thought, and these rogue SeeDs were escaping to Hyne-knows-where with Hyne-knows-what from the Garden database. And if it was indeed a scrap of the Trabia Stratagem, Rade could face the firing squad by morning.

---

The transport door slid down, and became a ramp for the SeeD travelers. Aren slitted his eyes as light flooded the doorway.

Bowes, check your arms.

He turned to an officer beside him, taller, and dressed in a liquid-blue jumpsuit adorned with heavy plated armor of the same soft hue. Bulky handguns were holstered under a neatly-organized utility belt. On his back was a sloped, armored pack that contained his munitions and supplies. Cradled on the plates of his forearms was a massive, blue-camoflauged machinegun.

Aren glanced down at his own equipment. He was adorned identically to the trooper beside him. His sidearms were secured in place, his backpack triple-checked over the long ride to the gate, and his machinegun fitted with a fresh clip.

"Relax. My arms are fine."

"What's that?"

Aren took a quick pant and turned to the seat beside him. Selphie eyed him curiously, smiling with a deep-brown eyebrow cocked. He glanced down; he wore his street clothing. Black jeans and a crimson hooded sweatshirt replaced the soft shine of the armor he had seen before. The door he had seen open was still tightly shut.

He scratched his forehead, brushing back a few long strands of black hair. "Sorry. Nothing. Fell asleep, I guess."

Stretching out, he crossed his black-booted feet, and glanced down at the dull grated floor below them. But he felt a light nudge at his thigh; he turned once again toward Selphie. She sat facing him with her legs crossed, still smiling warmly. Aren lowered his sloped glasses. He gave her a look at his grey eyes, and a smile of his own.

Selphie leaned against his shoulder, and rested her forehead on his temple. Aren felt her nose press against the robotic dome that encased his ear. She breathed a whisper that Aren heard clear as day.

"Take those things off, Aren!"

Aren shook his head. He felt Selphie's hair intertwine with his own, and her nose nudging at the edge of his dark sunglasses. He chuckled. "I like 'em," he whispered back.

"Oh, you do not." He felt her smile on his scarred forehead. "And it's dark in here anyway."

Darkness, Aren thought.

He closed his eyes, and said a silent prayer to Hyne. He asked for his safety, and to keep with him all he had learned. He asked for a burning passion, a determined rage, an unstoppable drive to keep his homeland from invasion by the enemy. And he closed as he always did, with a sigh and a slight nod.

Be it your will, a longing thought that concluded the ritual.

Only three soldiers, including Aren, were dressed in the blue armor with its silk-like shine. A few dozen of his peers were crowded behind him in smoke-grey camoflauge. They would exit the jumper behind Aren, as they were lined up. And they would break quickly to the left or right, and hope to find shelter for the inevitable crossfire. But Aren and two other brave men would be the first to taste the battle-burned air, the first to step on Gate Four's jumper landing. They would stay within the creamy flow of the jumper itself, and fire the first volleys to clear the path for the wave of smoke-colored troops.

He did not know the men beside him. He had never seen their faces, and they had no knowledge of his. They were sheilded, unrecognizable, behind flat-fronted helmets, as was he. They did not speak, or introduce themselves. They could not. For though they fought to remain optomistic, and vigorous with the thought of freeing Gate Four, there was a nagging weight deep within them that they had prepared for.

Deep down, they expected to watch each other, and themselves, die within the heavy waves of the jumper.

Aren felt a gentle kiss touch the white scar on his forehead. He gasped and jolted back. His grey pupils thinned down as his eyes flashed open.

Selphie sat beside him, as she had moments before. "What?" she whispered anxiously. "What's wrong?"

Irvine, laying on the floor, raised his hat from over his face. Quistis was leaning against the opposing wall; she offered her attention as well.

"Sorry," Aren smiled. "Sorry, did it again." He slid his glasses up against his eyes, and leaned back against the wall with a tiresome sigh. And through the curse of his razor-sharp hearing, he caught a feint sigh from Selphie.

---


	16. Friction

---

"This thing is so _cool!"_

Selphie stared down at herself. A shining, jet-black jumpsuit adorned her, its rubbery surface fitting tightly on her slender form. Eerie neon glows danced from tiny lights scattered about her body.

Irvine approached from behind, dressed in similar fashion. "Ugh," he frowned. "This thing's gotta go. I feel like I'm going to a scuba-themed _gay bar._"

Selphie grinned, and was about to reply, but was cut off by a laughter in the distance.

"Yeah, I'd hate to end up at another one of _those!"_

Aren descended from the ramp of the Terran transport, covered in heavy, block-shaped armor plates. His body shone in a flowing aqua. Even the equipment straps around his waist, arms and legs glimmered in an entrancing hue, and were barely discernable. Aren's head was fitted securely with a thick helmet, and a curved shield was flipped up from his face. 

Three soldiers stepped from the transport behind him. Their faces were covered, and massive automatic rifles were slung over their shoulders. The Terrans marched down the sloped platform in unison, Aren in the lead.

Selphie squealed in excitement. "Whoa! What's all _this?!"_

"Cool," Irvine nodded, "is that your old suit?"

Aren nodded Irvine's way. "Sure is. In perfect shape, thanks to Snap here."

One of the helmeted soldiers nodded. "No prob," said Snap in his imposing voice.

Aren rested a metal-plated hand on Selphie's shoulder. "Pretty cool, eh? Still fits and everything."

Selphie stepped back, and gave him a long look over. Large sidearms were strapped to his upper thighs, and ammunition clips for the weapons were secured around the holsters. Pouches and zippered pockets no doubt held more death-dealing weapons. But not only weapons, for the Soldiers from Below were some of the great survivalists of the known world. Selphie had read amazing stories of Terran soldiers who won grisly battles against all odds, using whatever they had around themselves to remain alive.

One such story had burned in her mind since its mention some time ago.

"Yeah...cool," she half-grinned. "Hey Aren, what was that battle you talked about, when you met Irvine?"

Aren cocked an eye. "After the battle of Gate Four, outside Nebria. That's where we'll touch off." They began to walk from the transport. "Why?"

"Nevermind," she shook. A cold shiver ran through her; she tried to cover it up. She had seen pictures of Gate Four. In moments, she would be standing at the site of one of the most gruesome battles in modern history.

"You okay?" asked Aren. He glanced down from the corner of his aqueous helmet.

She nodded sharply; her brown locks tossed to an fro. "Yeah! Yeah, I've just...never done this before."

"Aw, I think you'll like it! It's kinda fun. Like a waterslide, or something. Only faster, you know?" He squeezed her shoulder, and pulled Selphie close.

She felt Aren's pistol bump against her thigh. With a gasp, she jumped back and tore from Aren's arm. "Gosh, be _careful! _That thing might go off!"

Aren looked down at his weapon. "Sorry."

"But _really," _Selphie shuddered. "How come you've gotta _wear _all that _anyway? _It's not like we're goin' to _war _or something!"

"Wait, hold it," Aren crossed his arms. "I'm sorry it worked out this way. But we're marked for death! I'm not gonna walk around unarmed! Irvine's got his gun, your friend Quistis is armed...jeez, _you've _got a weapon, Selphie!"

Selphie stomped her foot in the dirt ground. "That's _different, _Aren!"

"How, huh? Tell me why." Aren's voice was raising by the moment.

"Because...b-because..."

Selphie threw her arms to her sides, and sprinted off. A short distance away was a long runway, lit by an eerie blue glow. Long protrusions jutted from the ground at either side of the glowing strip, flashing and coarsing pulses of energy in thick waves. An entrancing hum echoed through the pitch night, and drowned away her sobs.

---

Irvine shrugged. "What's with her?" he asked, his eyes on the blue glow from the runway.

"I know," said Aren, and he sprinted away on Selphie's trail.

"Whatever," said Irvine, mostly to himself. "You kids is cra-zy!"

A soldier approached, and flipped up his mask. It was Snap, but his jawbone was covered with flesh as normal. "Hey man," he nodded. "Just realized something."

"Oh?" Irvine replied, his eye trailing to the sky.

"Yeah," said Snap. He tugged on his newly-adorned chin. "My face was off last night!"

"Yeah," Irvine chuckled. "Your bone was showing, dude!"

"I _know!" _laughed Snap. "Hope I didn't gross anybody out."

Without looking, Irvine reached up and flipped down Snap's visor. "Nah. You're ugly as it is."

"Whew, good thing!" Snap joked, and patted Irvine on the back. "Get pumped, it's gonna be like old times!" He began toward the glowing light, and the other soldiers followed suit.

The clanks of footsteps on metal sounded behind Irvine; he turned back to the transport. Quistis stepped carefully down the dark runway, pulling the kinks out of her taut uniform. The suit's glowing neon accented her from the darkness around her, highlighting her figure boldly.

Irvine smiled. "How come you never dress up for _me _anymore, baby?"

Qustis rolled her eyes, and stopped at his side. "Where's everybody at?" she asked.

"Over by the jumper," he said, his eyes returning to the stars. "This is gonna be the ride of your life, kid. Well...not _the _ride of your life..."

"That's enough," she frowned. "That bugs me?"

Irvine breathed a laugh. "What, attention?"

"That's not the attention I'm looking for."

Irvine raised an eyebrow. "It's better than nothing, right?"

"No. It's not."

He nodded, and took a deep breath as a cold wind whipped from the direction of the glimmering jumper. Quistis shivered a bit, and tassled her blonde bangs from her eyes.

"Cold out, tonight," she uttered in icy monotone.

Irvine tapped out an upbeat sidestep, and bumped against Quistis' side. "That's my cue!" he smiled, and put his arm around her back.

"Hey!" she sneered, and pushed him back. "I told you, that makes me _uncomfortable."_

"Come on!" Irvine shrugged. "Me! You! Night time! Cold outside! Makes sense to me, kiddo!"

"That's not what I _meant. _I was making _conversation _to beat off the akward silence after you got _shot down _trying to work your stupid, sleazy _charm _on me!"

Irvine scratched the tie on his ponytailed hair. "This is not going well," he said, "is it?"

Quistis shook her head. "Hyne, Irvine, I thought you'd changed! You were behaving, and making good conversation! Showing some real progress!"

"Well, what do you want? I'm not gonna make my move in a devastated _city _or a _gang war!_ The romance just isn't there, you know?" 

He folded his arms, and suddenly double-blinked. "Whoa. Waidaminnit!" he said. "_Progress? _What's this _progress _all about?"

"Oh, you _know _what it's all about!" Quistis snapped, and pointed a finger in Irvine's face. "You'll never learn, will you? Girls aren't attracted to that cheesy charm, and those stupid joke-book pickup lines!"

"Kid, you cut me to the _quick,_" Irvine snapped back. "I tell you what. You know how many lovely ladies I've wooed with my ways? I ain't exactly a lonely man! If anybody's gotta change it's _you! _It's _you _that's got the frickin' _gunblade _up your butt!"

Quistis thinned her eyes, and stepped away. "I really gave you a chance, Irvine. I really did. But I guess all you're good for is a cheap night on the town or a lovely evening of _insults_. But considering our situation, I do _not _have time for this."

She stormed off to the structure in the distance, her two long locks whipping in the night wind. Irvine sighed, and shook his head, and turned his eyes once more to the stars. _Well, _he thought, _it was rocky at first. But I think I really turned that around!_

---


	17. Blood and Blades

Aren stood beside technological marvel that was the _Shrane-_class MachJumper. The runway was a thin rectangular pool of glowing substance, hundreds of meters long and some ten meters wide. Squarelike pillars stood at either side, and glowed a bright energy that hopped from one pillar to another. At the tops of the pillars were supports for another long pool, which ran the distance of the one on the ground, but was devoid of the slow-moving fluid. A team of two men, tall and pale-faced and dressed in military suits similar to Aren's, stood atop the long upper pool, where small buildings housed switchboards and computer equipment. A placid hum lightly vibrated the surroundings.

"You don't trust me," said Aren. "You think I'm crazy, don't you? You think I'll just _flip out _and hurt you."

Selphie stepped into the light of the pillars. "Aren...that's not...it's not what I meant."

"I told you," he said. "I told you from the start, I'm not worth it. And you made a mistake, and now it's coming back around." He placed his arms at his hips and stared at the liquid in the pool.

Selphie shuddered and hid a sob. "Aren...when I met you, I...I didn't know...I didn't know all these things. You just looked so hurt..."

"And now, you've got a little taste of _why. _What difference does it make _why, _Selphie?"

She dropped to the ground, dust clinging to her smooth bodysuit. "It scares me! I'm sorry...I'm so sorry, Aren! But..._Hyne, _it just _does!"_

Aren tightened his fists. "What do you want from me?" he coughed.

"Just...I don't know, just _tell me! _Tell me everything and get it over with!"

He spun about, and leaned to the spot where she sat. He pointed a finger at his scarred forehead. "See what you know _now?"_ he shouted. "That's _nothing, _and it's got you _breaking down! _You think I'm unstable? _Hyne, _if I told you _everything _you'd run _screaming _from me!"

Selphie lifted her eyes, swollen red, and they met the grey pupils of his own. She blinked away tears, and heaved her breaths. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "Aren, I'm sorry..."

Aren flipped down his visor. Tiny steel plates snapped out, and locked it in place. His voice came out garbled and hoarse, and made Selphie jump, as he turned his back.

"Set it off!" he called to the men above. "Let's go!"

Quistis stepped from the night's black, and knelt beside Selphie as Aren recieved a wave from one of the jumper's technicians. He pounded his fists anxiously, as the pillars' light grew immense. The upside-down pool over his head filled with the luminescent fluid, which hung suspended in its place.

Snap and his squadmates stepped onto the platform. Aren shouted hard above the hum, which grew to shocking intensity.

"Let the women go first, then Irvine, then you! Keep a man back to make sure we're not followed!"

The soldiers saluted and gave Aren space. He took a few steps back, and jumped high into the space between the pools. Fluid from both reservoirs flowed at his body and splashed together, suspending him in midair. His camoflauged armor nearly disappeared in the sea. The SeeDs watched in awe, as Aren's body was propelled down the runway at breakneck speed in a pulse of liquid and energy. As he reached the end of the reservoirs, the waters broke apart, and Aren was gone.

---

A flash of light registered on Aren's computerized visor, as he entered the Gate Four jumper. He leapt from the sea of liquid, which flowed in a single slick off his armor. The space around him was a massive cavern, littered with pointed rock formations as large as two-story homes. He could smell the moist air around him, and he noticed the artificial floodlamp light immediately.

Before him, standing hundreds of feet tall, were the thick steel gates of mighty Nebria. They stood between two plateaus high above the rocky ground, an impenitrable entrance to Aren's home city.

From the jumper's edge, Aren noticed a man approach. He was pale as Aren, and taller, with pointed blue hair and a tight black jumper uniform. His suit was turned off, but his body glowed an unsettling blue.

Aren unlocked his pistol holsters, as two Terran troopers jumped down from the upper reservoir with their beastly machineguns pointed the stranger's way. "This is a restricted military area!" called one, in a garbled shout. "Turn back immediately or face extreme force!"

The man turned his angular face to the soldiers. He raised an arm their way, as they sprinted the long distance toward him. From below the stone ground, a massive _crunch _echoed hard. An explosive fury of dew-wet rock filled the air as two spikes of ice, thick as treetrunks, blasted through like monstrous bullets and pounded through the armored bodies.

Sirens erupted all around the jumper and emergency messages filled the air. Aren flipped up his sidearms and ran from the jumper. The attacker had never stopped walking, and now stood at the end of the pools, facing Aren.

Aren unlocked his pistols and fired. Shots rang from the guns in immediate succession and dead on-target. But the stranger stood firm. A thick wall of ice formed before his body, and stopped the bullets with crackling whines.

The blue-faced man pulled back a fist, and punched into the wall. It shattered instantly, but the thousands of shards stood still in midair. The man waved a nonchalant hand. The glasslike pieces rocketed Aren's way in a fleeting instant.

Leaping hard, Aren dove behind a wide stalagmite as the shards stuck hard into the stone. A few caught his legs, pounding away on his armor. Aren fought panic and reloaded his pistols. _I'm fine,_ he thought, _as long as..._

The jumper came alive, and Selphie and Quistis shot from a sea of liquid and light.

The stranger turned quickly to the jumper. A smile crossed his angular face. He stretched his hands forth, and a flurry of sickle-shaped ice blades launched away.

---

Selphie swam to the side of the jumper pool, breathing heavily, with Quistis at her side. They emerged and watched the liquid retreat from their bodies. They quickly hopped from the water, and watched it retreat away. But the sight and sound of emergency alarms stole away their attentions.

An ear-piercing scream filled their heads. They fell backwards, heaved away by a powerful force, and scores of blue blades flew past above them.

Quistis struggled her head from the grip of the semiliquid flow, and pulled Selphie up with her. "Stay down!" she whispered, and peered over the edge.

---

A stalagmite burst in front of Aren. Chunks of rock slammed him hard and sent him to the ground, half-buried in rubble. The strange young man stood over Aren, and peered down with steely blue eyes.

The man's black-coated heel struck Aren's helmet, shattering through the face shield with ease and pushing shards of glass against his face. Aren reeled deeper into the pile of rock. His arms, legs and chest were gone under the mess.

"I'm alive, Bowes," came the stranger's raspy voice. He knelt at Aren's side, and touched his spread hand on the rocks that covered the armored chest. "And I remember _everything."_

His hand grew stiff and a darker blue. Around his palm and fingers formed layer upon layer of clear ice, until his hand was a weapon of razor-sharp prongs. He slowly scratched; the rock crunching away instantly.

"I remember my chest _splitting, _Bowes. I remember the shell _ripping through _me...and falling, and bleeding...back when I bled _red..."_

Aren's chest armor appeared under the crunching rock. He watched and struggled, as the stranger cut thin lines right through the bulletproof plates, and scraped his flesh.

"Look closer, Bowes," said the man. "You remember me. You had a _long look _before you _left _me on the field."

Aren stared at the thin face, the pointed nose, and the cold eyes. His grey pupils thinned to nothing.

"Mikael...!"

The stranger screamed and raised his bladed arm high. He swooped down for a stabbing blow. Aren quickly strained, and broke free his legs. He kicked Mikael hard in the chest, and sent him sprawling back. The ice blades shattered against a pillar of rock.

Aren broke his arms free. His loaded pistols were at hand. He fired successive rounds from both sidearms point-blank. The bullets buried into Mikael as he stumbled away, bashing against a miniature plateau. The shots pinned him against the wall as he choked and convulsed.

---

Selphie watched the shooting with harrowed eyes. _"Hyne!" _she cried. _"Oh Hyne, _he's _dead! Hyne, what's going on?!"_

Quistis grimaced in disgust. The cracks of gunfire continued their echo. But the echo was drowned, as the jumper's hum grew steadier and louder again.

"Quick!" shouted Quistis. "Get out!"

---

Aren's guns clicked empty. He lowered them and backed away, as the bullet-riddled Mikael slumped to the ground. He lay motionless. He did not bleed.

Guns went back to their holsters, and Aren slowly approached. "Hyne..." he whispered. "Hyne...Mikael, was it you?"

Mikael's eyes snapped alive.

He lunged forward and raised his hands above his head. A boulder of ice froze and floated, and launched into Aren with deadly force. Aren felt the armor crack and bend as he flew to the ground.

Mikael skidded to a halt beside him. He lifted Aren by the neck, formed a knife of ice, and slashed across Aren's midsection. Armor seared off, and the impact barely cut at Aren's stomach. Mikael bashed his elbow to the side of Aren's head, and spun a kick into the soldier's back.

The jumper blasted to life. Mikael let Aren fall, and strode menacingly for the machine. Selphie and Quistis were running from the bright shockwave of a new entry.

Mikael stretched a hand toward the two. "Blizzaga!" he screamed.

---

Quistis felt a rush of icy air whip about her. She snapped up her head to the stranger before them. _Ice attack! _she thought. _Selphie has to..._

It was too late; Selphie was still at her side and too close to leave proximity. Quistis grabbed Selphie by the back of her overalls and pulled her close. She threw her hand to the cavern ceiling hundreds of meters above her.

"Firaga!" she cried.

A prison of frozen blocks raised around them, closing in split-second time. Quistis felt her body grow frigid and stiff from a thick coating of ice. She could not breathe; her body panicked, and she tensed and chocked and prayed that her spell was in time.

A burning wave rose from the ground. It blasted the ice from her body and scorched the rocks around her. She fell forward and gasped, shaking from the shock and the painful singes around her legs.

She quickly glanced to her right. Selphie was doing the same, still alive.

The attacker growled hard and stood where he was. He waved his hand at Selphie. A block of ice blasted from the ground below her, and threw her several meters away. The ice master pointed at Quistis.

"Attack me!" he sneered, heaving breaths like a ravaged beast. "Come on, do it again!"

Quistis swallowed. She stumbled to her feet and raised her arms, and cast a firaga upon the blue stranger. A wave of fire blasted his way. He quickly ducked down and grabbed the rocks before him, and pulled hard. A giant layer of rock stripped off in his hands, and he lifted it with ease. The firewall reflected back to Quistis.

It slammed her hard, and she felt the firaga's heat tear away. She struggled to run from the burning that surrounded her. But her opponent was controlling the firaga with a circular wall of ice, and as it melted down, he built another up.

She raised her hand once more. "Float!" she cried. She lifted from the firaga, and the icy cage, and landed in a cloud of smoke beside Selphie. Quistis was weak; she had casted only three spells, and she could barely stand.

Her opponent, however, stood firm. He readied for a spell, and Quistis winced, and prayed. Selphie rolled beside her with her head in her hands; she was no help. Quistis struggled to move. She slipped about on the moist rocks, and fell.

---

Aren felt the energy coarsing through him. He reached back and threw a mighty punch. A sonic wave left his hand and split through the air. It pounded Mikael and knocked him senseless.

Aren readied another wave of energy and held it Mikael's way. But Mikael jumped to his feet, and held his palm up.

"Hold it!" he called. Streams of blue blood ran from his mouth as he panted. A shaky hand pointed to the rocky ground a few meters from the jumper. Selphie stood, and walked with slow, weary steps towards Mikael. Her eyes gazed distantly nothing, and her dust-spattered mouth hung open. As she grew closer, a ring of ice began to form around her neck. Her methodical breathing began to shorten, and although she wheezed, she still walked hypnotically to Mikael.

Aren watched Mikael's fist tighten, and he heard Selphie cough weakly. His grey pupils grew giant, until they filled his thin sockets completely. Tiny white crosses appeared amid them. Aren shouted, and charged at Mikael. His hands coarsed with sonic energy.

Mikael raised a wall before him; he bashed through. Mikael speared at him with long picks of ice; he ducked and dodged them all. With freight-train force he met Mikael, swinging his hands into the black-suited midsection. _Crunch, _his charged fists followed through, and Mikael toppled to the rocks in a heap.

Aren toppled with him. His hands were caught inside Mikael's chest, wrapped in live wires and steel conduit. Zaps of deadly electricity jolted him as Mikael squirmed about. 

Aren screamed and pulled, and tore the wires free. He lay on the rocks, tangled in melted armor and sparking wires. He could barely move, but he felt the whip of cold air rush about him.

Blizzaga! he thought.

He rolled to the side as far as he could. The wave of cold barely scraped at his leg as it passed.

---

Quistis pressed her arms against the rocks, and lifted a few inches off the ground. Just enough to turn her head, to get a glimpse of the jumper behind her. Irvine climbed from the waters in the pool in confusion. He flipped open a comlink to speak a message, but stopped short, as a cold wind passed over him.

"Ir...Ir-vine..." Quistis breathed in panic. "Loo-look..."

Irvine's body was encased in a towering block of ice. Quistis screamed, and fell again. She closed her eyes and focused; tried to concentrate for one last spell. But a dizzying force seemed to lift her off the ground. Her eyes reopened; she was within the blackened sphere of a Demi spell. She felt her body shake in pain as space warped about her, and finally dissipated, letting her collapse on her back.

A face peered down on her, a face she recognized. The peering blue eyes, thin-set frown, and blonde locks of Seifer Almasy. The edge of his dull grey trench coat blew about as he stared into her.

Seifer reached down, and placed a black glove lightly on her cheek. A powerful vibration racked through Quistis' skull; she coiled away in pain. His footsteps grew distant from her place and she once again turned his way, to see him beside the Terran-built jumper. Mikael's body dragged behind under Seifer's arm. Messy chunks were torn through his chest and stomach and wires whipped about from within. Seifer threw the young man into the waters of the jumper.

He turned to the block of ice that held Irvine Kinneas. His right hand clenched into a fist, and he brought it hard into the frozen Blizzaga. The glasslike ice burst to tiny bits.

---


	18. Feather on the Waves

] 9 Month 371

] Noor-Sheer Trenches

] Fifty miles from Fisherman's Horizon

Squall Leonhart leaned over the edge of the armored military boat's deck. The wind swept about his sandy brown hair, and waves bobbed the military boat rhythmically under him. Water splashed at his black, fur-collared leather jacket, and beaded off in tiny splashes. At his neck hung a chain, locked together at both ends and devoid of a pendant.

He stared at the waves as they crashed against the boat's hull. The feather, he remembered, rested on the waves at this very spot a year ago. On a horriffic night, when he lost his first love, and his truest friend.

I wonder how long I'd have held on, he thought. _How long I'd have lied to myself, and pretended things would turn around. At least there was the chance. I could deal with rejection, as long as there was a chance._

I wanted to love her. I really did. I tried my best, I gave her everything. But...I guess there's not much to me. Not enough, not for someone like Rinoa. I don't know who I was kidding.

He sunk his head to the deck's guardrail. _I'd tell her I'm sorry if I could. I'd change everything. I'd try harder, bend over backwards...I'd kill myself to get another shot. We'd never have been out here if it weren't for me. If I hadn't been the shallow, self-centered introvert that I am._

I never should have taken the dance, Rinoa...

Squall heard an alarm sound inside the armored cabin. He climbed down the rear hatch, and stepped through the cargo area to the gunship's controls. Flipping a switch, he adjusted the video monitor on the console, and hunched over it.

A short, older gentleman appeared on the screen. He wore a white long-sleeved shirt, with a red vest over top. His face was solemn, but his eyes bright and full of life. Neat brown hair was combed carefully back. Squall recognized the man as Cid, headmaster of Balamb Garden.

"Headmaster," Squall nodded. No snap to attention or formal salute was offered.

Cid nodded, and offered a wave. "Hello, Squall," he replied. "I called your residence and was forwarded here. I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Of course not, he thought. "No sir," he said quietly. "What do you need."

"I thought you might want to hear this, and took it upon myself to deliver it. It regards some SeeDs you've worked with who have come upon a situation in the underground city of Nebria."

Squall reached for the screen's power button. "I'm not interested in an assignment," he said quickly. "Good day."

"Wait, Squall!" the headmaster reached out. "Hear me out. It's not an assignment. I'm just passing information along, and you might find it important."

Squall stepped back and folded his arms. "Go on."

"I'll make this quick," said Cid. "The SeeDs in Nebria are former friends of yours. Our Quistis Trepe and Trabia's Selphie Tilmitt, as well as Irvine Kinneas from Galbadia Garden. They may be in grave danger."

Squall sat down in the pilot's chair and craned his neck.

"After weeks without radio contact, Quistis finally contacted us. Her party had joined a gentleman named Aren Bowes from Terra Garden, on a trip to Trabia. There was an attempt on their lives. They were relocated Bowes' friend to a MachJumper to get them to protection, but were met by more assassins when they reached Nebria. Irvine Kinneas has turned up missing. The rest of the party is stuck in Nebria, and have lost track of the assassins."

Squall paused and closed his eyes. A thousand thoughts flooded his mind; he shoved them all aside.

"Thank you, sir," he said. "Do they require assistance?" Formalities first; of course they did...

Cid nodded. "Yes, and we cannot provide it. Nebrian military has closed off the city gates. I've tried to bargain the SeeDs home, but they won't allow it."

"Nobody in or out," Squall remarked. "Must've been quite a battle. Nebrians don't scare easily."

The headmaster smiled a bit. "If we know your friends right, I'm sure it was." He sat back in a chair that was barely visible behind his image. "What you do is up to you, but I can arrange transport if you need it."

Squall stood silently. He nodded his head, and placed a finger on the screen's power button. "I'll call you back," he said, and pressed it.

He returned to the water's edge, and stared down at the splashing waves. 

~


	19. AiMei

~

Nebria's cityscape harbored traits that far surpassed unique, and bordered on the incredible. Streets were lit with lamps that curved in half-circles above the passing vehicles. Buildings rose to lofty heights, crafted into angular shapes like broken shards of glass. Their points glowed bright neon colors that blended into an eerie rainbow. Helicopter-like machines whizzed silently through the haze. It was hard to believe that somewhere in the towering heights, far above the skyscrapers' highest floors, was a roof of cave rocks and stalactites.

Aren's head throbbed with more worries than he could count. A man he had believed long dead was trying to kill him, and Selphie, and her friends. And Irvine, had he killed Irvine? Was the dead man still in Nebria? Was Irvine still alive somewhere?

He needed to cut at the root of his troubles. Back to the center, to Trabia Stratagem. He knew of another man in Nebria who could give him information: it was Kore. But the thought of Kore made Aren's stomach turn. The torture he endured; the horrible dreams that woke him nightly in ice-cold sweat were all he could envision when Kore came to mind. Who knew what the sick old man would have in store when Aren finally returned home.

And then there was Selphie. She had no doubt had her fill with Aren's introversion, and his secrecy felt to her like a breach of trust. He knew it full well. But Selphie seemed so fragile in his eyes. She was a sweet, perky, and unbearably cute young lady who deserved as much of her innocence as she could hold onto. The destruction of Trabia was enough of a strain on her; it seemed to consume her life. No doubt she handled it with the utmost maturity, but it was horrible how devastated she became when thoughts of Trabia returned to her.

First things first, he thought. _I need a name. Something to change; someone to shoot so I can get this hit off our heads. Can't get to the name without going through Kore._

Aren stepped from his Screamer bike. He removed his helmet, and placed it inside the closing cockpit of glass and steel. His pale head and eyebrows were shaved bald, and long black lines were tattooed over top of his scalp. The circular devices over his ears shined under flourescent streetlamps.

His Screamer was parked in a small lot next to a squarish, brightly shining housing unit made entirely of a steel-like sheeting substance. Snap's combat cycle was beside his, and the soldier soon joined him.

"Gonna fix that?" Snap nodded at Aren's armor. The creamy blue camoflauge sheet that had covered his suit was torn up from the battle a few days ago. A tattered cape of luminescent hue trailed at his shoulders, and hung from his arms and legs. It blew about in the mechanical Nebrian breeze, and glowed gently in the dark.

"Nah," said Aren. "I kinda like it."

"You look like a frickin' ghost or somethin'," Snap replied. "Like the frickin' angel of death."

Aren started up the polished stairs leading to the front door. It swished open, and the two soldiers entered a surprisingly run-down apartment complex. Metal walls were cracked and rusted, and a grated floor ran into a drainage sewer below the apartment.

"It's like a prison here," said Aren. "Ai-Mei deserves better."

Snap nodded. "Yeah. She's been through a lot." He stopped Aren, as they reached what looked like a large freight elevator. "Uh, Aren, before we go up."

"Yeah?" Aren raised a thin eye.

"Well," Snap winced. His lower jaw remained taut in an artificial grimace, though his upper lip moved to speak. "She ain't the same as you 'member. Not since Kore got to her."

Aren stepped into the elevator. "I know," he chuckled. "We're all screwed up, though. Maybe she'll finally be comfortable around me. She always said I freaked her out."

Snap hit a floor button, and heavy doors closed before them. Aren leaned hard against the back wall of the elevator. "_Hyne," _he sighed. "This is gonna be hard."

A brief lurch told the soldiers they were at their floor. They filed into a hall identical to the one previously. A few meters down, one of the room doors was open. The sound of hydraulic hisses and mechanical motors bounced down the metal hall, topped with struggles and screams of a human female.

"Vultures!" growled Snap. "They're back, they'll rip 'er apart!"

Two humanoid machines stomped out of the open room, and into the hall. Tangles of machinery and stray wires wrapped around skinny, corpselike human bodies.Their legs and arms were robotic augments, uneven and out of proportion. They dragged a young lady with them, as she struggled to free herself from their piercing cyborg fingers.

In a flash, Aren was armed with one of his handguns. He fired a shot, shattering the face of one grisly attacker. It stumbled backward, its artificial hands against the bloodless wound, and the young lady screamed harder.

Snap ran for the second Vulture with Aren following close behind. Both soldiers grabbed hold of the Vulture's arms, and tried their hardest to pull the viselike grip apart. The Vulture refused to budge.

Aren heard an explosive gunshot, and felt the bullet pound the wall beside him. He rolled from Snap's struggle and raised his weapon. The wounded Vulture was standing firm again. Snakelike wires protruded from the disfigured face, and blinking sensors at the ends provided eyesight where human eyes no longer existed. The cyborg akwardly gripped a semi-auto handgun.

Snap looked up at the Vulture he struggled with. A set of lifeless eyes stared frantically at him, scanning over his body rapidly.

"Don't _touch _my _girl!" _he shouted. "You send _that _back to Kore!"

Two combat blades extended from the plates on Snap's forearms. He head-butted the Vulture in the face and brought the machetes down through the steel arms. They split off, and the Vulture fell back into the wall.

Aren fired on the armed Vulture. His first shot cracked through his enemy's weapon, sending chunks of the black handgun into the air. More rounds landed in the fleshy bicep of the Vulture's arm. The dead flesh tore and split, and fell to the ground. But the Vulture was reaching for its midsection with the remaining limb, where another pistol was clipped.

Aren leapt into the robot's chest and slid down the hall in a tackle. He raised a closed fist above the Vulture. His arm plating opened at the left and right of his hand, and sent spinning discs through the steel of his opponent's appendage. Its other arm dropped off.

A powerful kick landed on Aren's side. He rolled from the tackle, and the faceless Vulture stood. But it soon toppled, as the second Vulture flew down the hall and they collided hard.

Snap grabbed Aren by the arm and pulled him up. "Let's get rid of these things!" he said.

"Right," replied Aren. "Let's light 'em up. I'll cover us."

They reached over their shoulders and each retrieved a long steel tube. The devices had pistol grips on their undersides, but no stocks to lessen recoil. Aren and Snap knelt to the ground, pulled levers on the tubes, and slid open their chambers.

Aren unclipped two glass canisters from protected pockets in his belt. One by one, he slid them into the chamber, and locked it closed.

"Aren, give us some distance!" called Snap as he struggled with his own canisters.

The Vultures were growing dangerously close. Semi-human moans mixed with hydraulic hums of the armless attackers. Aren slung his unfinished weapon across his back. His pistol lay on the ground by his foot; he kicked it up and grabbed it in midair. _Clap, clap-clap! _High-powered rounds burst from the gun and thumped into the Vultures' chests, and slowed them just a bit.

Swinging the new weapon back into place, he rested it against his arm. Snap was doing the same. Aren reached behind his back again, and brought forth three heavy wires. He popped them cleanly into respective slots on the tube.

Snap's chamber was refusing to close. "Aw, screw this!" he growled. "It ain't my style!"

Aren glanced behind him; the young lady was no longer in the hall. "Fine," he said dryly, "just don't kill me, okay?"

Aren leapt back as a Vulture stomped its metal foot down inches away. "Visor," he called, backing away from more attacks. The metal implants on his ears sprung to life, and connected a squarish silver visor over his eyes. Readouts sprang to life before him; targeting reticles appeared all over the Vuture's body. Messages scrolled by and updated him on his new weapon.

Chemicals mixed. Demo cannon online. Discharge now. Discharge now. Discharge now.

Aren raised the handle before him, and squeezed. _Fwoosh, _a burst of intense flame roared through the hall and into the cyborg. Flesh and steel melted, as it shook and convulsed under the stream of liquid fire. The Vulture dripped into a mass of shining steel on the floor.

"I'm out," Aren said over his shoulder. "I don't have the whole suit, remember?" The second Vulture was closing, singed and burned from its partner's fire.

Snap held a roll of thick tape in one hand, and both canisters in the other. He had fixed them together end-to-end. "Get your sidearm," he replied. "This oughtta do it."

Aren dropped the clip out of his handgun. One in the chamber; no spare shells.

Snap threw the canisters. Aren raised his gun as they flew toward the Vulture. His eye traveled perfectly down the square barrel and at the spinning device.

Dink, it bounced off the Vulture's metal skull.

Aren fired. Inches away, from the Vulture, the bullet struck the canisters and blasted them to shreds. Neon chemicals mixed in midair.

A tremendous force and deafening sonic punch knocked Aren and Snap on their backs, and a white-hot flash burned at their eyes. It subsided instantly. Aren's visor retracted into his earpieces; he holstered his sidearm and stood.

Scars of black sut covered the hallway. Steel had melted from the ceiling; re-formed the instant the blast subsided into shining spikes. Not a trace of the Vultures was left.

Snap stood up and returned the unused flamethrower to his back. "_Hyne,"_ he growled. "I almost forgot how _hardcore_ you get."

"Yeah, whatever," Aren found one last clip, and loaded it into the gun from its holster. "Go find Ai-Mei. Maybe I should...you know. Stay outside."

"Come on," said Snap, "she'll be fine." He grinned. "I'm proud of my baby! Gotta show 'er off, you know?"

"Right," nodded Aren solemnly.

Snap turned the lock on a scorched steel door, and it swung free. The room inside was a shambles. Metal and concrete floors were covered with broken glass, torn clothing and splinters of furniture. A mattress in the far corner had a refrigerator smashed through it.

Amid the clutter sat a pale, petite young lady. She wore a pair of ripped-up bluejeans, and a heavy black sweater. Her face was scarred deeply at the cheeks; thin wires protruded and ran up to the inside corners of her large, beady green eyes. Her pasty white face was without expression.

Snap leapt over the piles of junk and landed at her spot. "You okay, baby?" he smiled, and helped her to her feet. He gently touched her face. "All your things in place, an' all that?"

Ai-Mei nodded. "Yes," she whispered, barely moving her grey lips. "Yes, I th-think I'm all right." She sighed, and embraced him. "Are they gone?"

"Oh, they're gone!" Snap laughed. "Ain't nothin' left but dust."

Aren stood firm at the doorway, hands on his hips. He swallowed hard and blinked his grey eyes. Snap lifted Ai-Mei's head from his shoulder, and waved Aren closer.

"I brought him with me," said Snap. "He ain't missed a chance to see you yet."

Ai-Mei stared at Aren long and hard, not a word, not a smile on her motionless face. Aren finally took a breath, and widened his thin lips into a pathetic smile. "Hey," he whispered.

"C-come here," she called; her voice was distant and airy; her lips merely quivered as she spoke. Aren stepped through the piles of garbage in the run-down room, and sat with his friends. Ai-Mei continued to stare at Aren's face. He was missing something; he knew it.

She finally sighed, and shook her head. "I'm sorry, Aren. I...I tried... I've been practicing my smile for you all d-day. I dun...dunno why. It's n-not working...I'm sorry."

A flood of hatred poured into Aren; he gazed at the thick scars and the wires that stuck from her face. He imagined her torture; he envisioned his own. But his eyes returned to hers, and he calmed himself, and smiled gently.

He gently touched her cold face. "You're still the prettiest girl I know."

~


	20. Of Kore

~

Seifer stepped briskly down the Garden hall. A foursome of young ladies wearing the standard black tops and short skirts noticed him as he grew closer. The students called his name excitedly; he paid them no attention.

What a waste, he thought. _I could have killed them all; I had the opportunity. Why hadn't I taken it? I could have been filthy rich by now, back home. I should've taken my shot._

But he had hesitated for many reasons. He had never trusted Mikael's assessment of Aren Bowes; Mikael was too immature to realize his faults, or his enemy's shortcomings. Aren could have been dangerous. And though Seifer knew he would not be killed, he disliked the thought of being unnecessarily wounded. It was not the efficient way to go about things.

But more importantly, it was because of Quistis. He had forgotten about Quistis.

The most attractive of the students, a pale-faced brunette laiden with makeup, grabbed his arm provocatively. "Hey, Seifer..." she sighed, "how come you never called...?"

Seifer spun about and her by the bicep. He twisted it back; she screamed and convusled away. Seifer threw the girl into the wall and knelt beside her. The young lady's friends stepped back in fear; students crowded around to catch a glimpse of the action.

Seifer's eyes slitted down at her. He grabbed a handful of her perfectly set hair and yanked it up. She screamed again and raised her eyes to his horrible face.

"_What _did you call me?" Seifer growled.

"....Mas...Master Almasy..." she quivered.

He placed his free hand on her neck. His leather glove squeezed the pale flesh and the girl coughed and cried.

"You _will _treat your superiors with due respect and courtesy," he hissed, "or I will instill a fear within you so _deep _it will follow you until the _day you die. Do you understand?"_

She shook her makeup-smeared face behind his closing glove. "Y-yes! Yes, Master!" she choked.

Seifer threw her hard against the wall once again. The hall of students divided, as they jumped back against the walls to let Seifer pass. He wiped his hands against his long silver coat, and continued down the hall.

He opened a windowless door and stepped inside. The room was small, a standard hospital lodging of four white walls and a few pieces of furniture. On a sterile medical bed sat Mikael Midas. His upper body was bare; his flesh glowed a dull ice blue. A massive cavity in his chest was torn open. Flesh ended in clumps of blue and gave way to a collage of multicolored wires and cables that poured from within. The life support system was attached to series of monitors and automated devices that took up the remainder of the room.

Mikael looked up. "They'll be done by tomorrow morning," he said. "The doctors have never seen what I've got. They're learning on the fly. Very reassuring."

Seifer leaned on a large, boxy machine. "How long before you can travel?" he asked.

"As soon as they're done," replied Mikael. "And stay away from that thing, if you don't mind. That's my lungs."

Seifer nodded with a sneer and a mocking pat on the machine. "You blew it back there."

"Shut up," said Mikael. "You left me out to dry."

"Because _you _told me Bowes was a _wimp. _He ripped your chest open with his bare hands."

"I got sloppy."

"You got your _ass _kicked!" said Seifer quickly. "But you did give me a chance to scan him over nice and good."

Seifer stretched out his arm, and flicked his wrist. A large spinning orb of imploding black energy formed and floated on his open palm. "He's weak to all magic. _All magic, _and you couldn't even cast _one spell _on him."

Mikael looked carefully without a change of expression.

"But of all magic," said Seifer, "he's especially weak to timespace. This little spell is a Demi. I could _sneeze _and cast a Demi. But it'll blow his brains out."

"Wait a minute." Mikael stood up. "I told you I needed to settle this with Bowes myself. That's all I asked."

Seifer shook his head. "I'm not going to wait around while you two regress to the good ol' days. I'm going to kill Bowes and the SeeDs so I can get my _money, _head back to my _club _and go get some decent _sex."_

The Demi dissipated, and Seifer tugged lightly on one of the cables that snaked from Mikael's chest. "He did this to you, I'm assuming."

"That's right," said Mikael. "Gutted me like a damned _fish. _Shot me in the back, too._"_

Seifer's blonde eyebrow raised. "With?"

"Ever heard of a Hellcaster?"

A nod from Seifer. "Yeah, yeah I have," he breathed. He rubbed his palm under his chin. "Know what," he said. "I think you could take him. I'll get you a straight shot at him and we'll see what happens."

Mikael's steely eyes widened. "Serious?"

"Yeah. You need a pointer or two, but you could take him." 

Seifer stared at the metal and wires protruding from Mikael's chest. "Garden hasn't seen this yet? It must be far ahead of its time."

"It works," said Mikael. "It's not the same, but I'm not dead anymore."

Seifer found Mikael's wording odd; he decided not to ask. "Who made it?" he offered instead.

"Who made _me?" _Mikael laughed, and poked at the wires. "Or at least _this _much of me. The rest is real. But _this_ is the work of a Terran, a Nebrian. His name is Kore."

~


	21. Headspin

~

Irvine sat nervously in the armored Terran transport. He was worried; he never did his best while nervous. And his thoughts only served to compound his anxiety.

He stared down at his blocky silver armor. _What am I doing here? _he sighed inwardly. _This isn't my battle. I don't know the Nebrians, and I don't care about Galbadia. I'm not fighting for anything here! I don't belong._

I need motivation, he thought. _Well, I'll get my biggest payout in monhts...who knows, when I'm a war hero, maybe I can find me a hot Nebrian chick an' settle down for a few months..._

This ain't working.

Irvine turned to the man seated beside him. He was wide-shouldered, with skin as white as the flesh of a corpse. His bald head was lined with black tattoos. Silver spheres wrapped around his ears. Thin grey eyes looked blankly ahead.

"What's up?" said Irvine; he was the only one in the transport to speak.

The young man thinned his eyes tighter.

Irvine slouched back in his seat. "So...this is supposed to be an easy one, eh?"

The soldier did not reply.

"Hey man, what's the deal?"

He turned sharply to Irvine, stuck a gloved finger in his face, and growled. "Shut up."

Irvine quickly backed off. "_Hyne, _okay! Just tryin' to make some conversation!"

"We don't make conversation."

Irvine nodded, and thought on that for a long time. But he still felt like talking, dispite his better judgement. "Why's that?"

The soldier throated a sneer under his breath. He turned once again to the free-spirited sniper. "So when you _die, _we don't feel sorry for you. That's why." 

~

Irvine blinked; his head ached powerfully. Chills ran through him in stabbing spasms. His vision blurred badly. He struggled to sit upright, dispite an overwhelming soreness.

He could swear there was a face, someone standing over him. It grew closer, and he smelled a gentle scent of light perfume. The touch of a human hand met his neck. It carefully pressed him back down.

"Relax," said a gentle, light female voice, "you're all right. Give yourself a second." The woman laughed lightly. "You're all crosseyed."

"Great," chuckled Irvine. "My guardian angel's got a sense of humor."

"Your vision's worse than I thought! I'm no angel."

Irvine's focus gradually returned. A beautiful young woman sat over his place. Her skin was deeply tanned, her long hair bleached white. Wide green eyes stared down at him, and her dark lips held a warm smile.

Irvine raised an eyebrow. "Could've fooled me," he smiled. His benefactor blushed. "So," he said, "I'm not in heaven, then?"

"More like hell," she replied, "but colder. Welcome to Trabia."

~

] Industrial District 23

] Nebria

Quistis reclined on a long, comfortable sofa. Her eyes were swollen from exhaustion, and her body bandaged from the attack a few days before. She was dressed in a white bathrobe, much too big for her, and tied tightly to compensate.

Their hotel was well-furnished, and modestly decorated with paintings and statuettes that reminded her of smalltown Balamb. But outside the balcony window and several dozen floors down, the technological marvel of Nebria was alive and more than her full of the strange. The streets were made of steel, or something like it, but surely not concrete, and a variety of weirdly-designed machines rode over them. Buildings were constructed in odd half-boxy, half arched fashions, not a one looking like the others. Each skyscraper was lit with glowing, flowing neon streaks. Hover-copters whooshed around their tops. The sky was night; it had been since their arrival days ago.

No doubt, Quistis liked the atmosphere. Or would have, on any other trip to Nebria. Everything had a majestic air to it, it all seemed to flow perfectly. But Quistis had been handed more than she could stomach of bad experiences, and all she wished for now was a one-way ticket back home. Back to Balamb Garden, to her quad, and safe and warm in bed.

She nearly drifted to sleep, but Selphie's cry snapped her awake.

"Well...at least Irvine's okay, right?"

Quistis nodded to the floor, where Selphie sat nervously. "Uh-huh," she replied wearily.

It was indeed a relief to her. Irvine had called Snap's military frequency, which he had thankfully remembered after all these years. He said little, only that he was back in Trabia, still recovering. And for the SeeD and their comrades not to go anywhere, because he would meet up with them in Nebria.

Something about it seemed wrong, or at least unexplained. But Quistis could not think about it. Her head pounded from the responsibilities on her shoulders. She had watched over Selphie since her arrival and saved her from certain death many a time. She had become the target of assassins connected with Aren Bowes, whom she knew little about, and was not completely sure if she could trust.She had met one of Bowes' friends, who seemed to have a removable lower jaw. She had almost died three days ago. She had been cold to her friend Irvine, and then he had nearly perished as well.

Her stomach turned from Garden's GF medication. Quistis sighed shakily, and lay down on the couch.

But Selphie continued. "I mean, Aren's been gone for a while, though...he hasn't called Snap, and we know he _could..._I dunno, maybe I'm just worrying too much."

Quistis' puffy eyes closed themselves tightly. "Yeah...I dunno..."

"...But I _still _think he should have...even if he...not like him to...."

Selphie's voice trailed in and out. Quistis was too weary to respond. She finally gave up, rested her head on the sofa's pillow, and let in the welcome drift away from Selphie and into sleep.

~


	22. Trabia?

~

Aren stared up at Ai-Mei's apartment building, from before the stairs that led into the lobby. His armor was a patchwork of two suits; his arm and leg plating had belonged to Snap, and he had found some extra weapons attachments in the storage bays of the Screamers. But the chest armor was his own. It was without a shine, and dented and scratched. Two long scrapes were cut along the distance of his chest, and the sharp metal edges poked forth. Aren had put the shredded neon Jumper-suit back on atop his armor. It flowed in the wind with reckless abandon, and cast a dim hue over his body.

Snap stood at his side, in black pants and a thick black coat. Ai-Mei's arms were wrapped around his waist.

"Where are you going from here?" asked Aren solemnly, his eyes lowering from focus on the building.

"I'm gonna get us outta here," said Snap, "if the Vultures are gettin' this close."

"There won't be any Vultures tomorrow morning," said Aren.

Snap nodded. "Yeah, well even so, I wanna get 'Mei somewhere that the landlord won't complain."

Aren laughed with a thin smile. "So they don't blow things up on a regular basis, eh?"

"Naw," joked Snap, "not since _you _left town!"

Aren shook Snap's hand, and hugged Ai-Mei. "Keep in touch," he said. "Call me tomorrow morning."

"Hope to Hyne you don't pick up," said Snap. Ai-Mei looked at them quizzically.

Aren nodded; he understood. He had arranged it with Snap when they had a moment aside from Ai-Mei: Aren would leave his communicator on all night. If he switched it back off by next morning, he was victorious. If the communicator rang without a pickup, Aren was dead.

"I'll be around," said Aren, his back turned, as he walked slowly to the waiting Screamer.

Ai-Mei sprinted to catch up with him. She caught him by the arm and turned him around. "Aren...what are you going to do?" Her expressionless face, her dead gaze; it turned his stomach.

Aren smiled. "I'm gonna pay a visit to Kore," he said, as encouragingly as possible. "I'm gonna find out who's after me. And once that's done, we'll see."

Ai-Mei grabbed him by his armored shoulders. "Aren, please," she cried, with barely quivering lips. "P-please, hear me out."

He nodded quietly.

"I...I'm hurting...every day, a little more...s-sometimes, I just wanna _die..._" She blinked her earnest eyes. "I d-don't want more people...to b-be like this..."

Aren sighed. "I know."

"Y-you...you can do it. I know you're gonna t-try...you can kill him, Aren...I'll pray for you..."

He smiled, and gave her another hug. "You just work on that smile. I wanna see it next time!"

Ai-Mei nodded in his arms, then retreated back to Snap. Aren disappeared inside the giant Screamer bike's cockpit. The glass closed over him, the engine roared to life, and he was on his way.

~

"Trabia. Well, whattaya know..."

Irvine sat comfortably under the covers of a small cot, within the walls of an old Trabian hotel. He wondered if it was the same building Selphie called home when in town. It looked about as run-down, to say the least. The walls were cracked, the ceiling was missing tiles, and the only light came from a single bulb that hung from the wall over his bed. This room did not have the privelige of a window.

His benefactor, the young lady with white hair and green eyes, sat at the edge of his bed. She wore an old brown sweatshirt and pants that were much too big for her, tied together with rope through the belt loops. The girl smiled, and handed Irvine a glass of water.

"Thank you," he nodded, taking the cup. "Am I to believe you've saved my life?"

She smiled, just a little bashfully. "Yeah, you could say so, I guess. I found you by the Terra Jumper. It's weird...it...felt like you were freezing to death!"

"Suppose I was," said Irvine. "Long story. But thank you, ma'am. Irvine Kinneas, at-cher service."

The girl smiled wryly at the mock dramatics. "Tamya," she said, "Tamya Se'Ann."

Irvine shook hands with Tamya. "A pleasure, ma'am."

He stood from the bed, stretched a little and leaned against the cracked drywall. "I have a friend from Trabia, you know. Selphie Tilmitt's her name, do you happen to know her?"

Tamya laughed. "Oh, no, I wouldn't. I'm not Trabian either." She frowned just a bit, but covered it up quickly. "It's...a long story too, I guess. Want something to eat?"

Irvine said he did, and Tamya turned for the door. Her baggy sweatshirt rolled away from her neck. Along its right side, a long incision ran up and down; it was neatly stitched together. Irvine winced.

"Come on," Tamya waved without looking back, "we'll go find Devon and have some breakfast."

Irvine followed her out of the apartment complex, which he confirmed as being Selphie's home. _Deja' vous,_ he shook his head. _What a bizarre trip this has been..._

They walked together down the broken-up sidewalk. Children played among the wreckage of crumbled building walls, and homeless men chased them away from time to time.

"So, Tamya, Irvine said, "do you have relatives here, then? How come you're here?"

Tamya laughed again. "Well, you'd laugh."

"Would not!" Irvine smiled. "Go on!"

She hesitated, but obliged. "I'm...actually...well, I came here by mistake, and I can't seem to get _home!_ I'm just helping out at the shelter to make up a little money. I'm a college student, from Extronic city." She glanced at Irvine's face, waiting for a laugh. "Guess I'm stuck here."

"Well," replied Irvine cheerily, "you and me both! Something tells me I'm not going anywhere soon. My friends are in Nebria. I guess I fell in the Jumper by mistake."

"Whoa! Nebria?" Tamya turned about. "As in _Terra?"_

"Uh-huh, I've got a few Terran friends that get me in. Nice place, Nebria..."

Tamya laughed. "Wow, this is _great! _I can't _wait _to introduce you to _Devon!"_

Devon, eh? thought Irvine. _If he's anything like Aren, I'd better make a good first impression..._

~


	23. Meltkore

~

A long, rusted one-floor warehouse building stood before Selphie. It lay in an undesirable part of Nebria, just a few miles away from the lodgings Aren had set up for them. Selphie had enjoyed the first half of her walk, through the brilliant and majestic Nebrian streets, watching the hovercopters dive and weave between buildings, carrying freight cargo to the industrial areas. But now the streets were dented and rotted crimson with flakes of rust. The buildings were not well kept, and there were no pedestrians and no glamorous futuristic cars zipping by. Those who did venture onto the streets were much too rough around the edges for the likes of Selphie. She was quite out of place, dressed in her tidy yellow dress and trendy boots. She was beginning to wonder if this was such a good idea.

She knocked on one of the garage doors that lined the building's wall. An akward silence followed, and she kept an eye over her shoulder. _Be brave, _she thought. _You've gotta go through with it._

A small orb fell from the roof of the building, and clinked against the ground. It instantly sprouted four tiny legs, and a red light flickered on, as it seemed to inspect Selphie's boots.

Selphie knelt down and had a closer look. The orb looked up and focused on her face.

"Hello!" she waved, with a little smile. "Um...I'm here to see someone named Kore...do you know him?"

"Kore." To Selphie's surprise, the orb spoke, in a garbled, computerized growl.

"Uh, yes...Kore! I'd like to talk to him, please. If he's not busy, of course!"

"Kore is not busy," said the orb. "What call have you responded to?"

Selphie squinted. "Um...excuse me?" she asked.

"Have you been brought by a Vulture?"

"Um...not that I know of..."

The orb shot into the air. Bundles of wiring whipped to the ground, and to its sides, and above. It stood some ten feet tall, with wiring for legs and arms, and a red eye that meandered toward Selphie by way of a long cord.

"State your business with Kore," it questioned her.

Selphie cringed, and stepped back a few feet. "I...I just want to talk with him...is this a bad time?"

"No," said the orb. "Speak with Kore."

The overhead door rumbled open, and the orb whipped an arm around Selphie's wrist. It seemed to float as it took broad steps across a broken concrete floor. The warehouse was filled with steel and wooden crates. Most were closed, but a few were not, and strange computerized equipment was present inside.

They left the spacious warehouse, and past an open metal door, which the orb closed behind them. It appeared to have been a reception area at one time. Shattered windows gave a view of the rusted street otuside. A dust-covered desk and file cabinet were pushed against the cold wall.

Sitting atop the desk was an old, white-bearded man. He wore a heavy cotton sweatshirt and worn out pants, and a pair of combat boots. His head was bald, and his face littered with mechanized augments, but he seemed warm and kind nonetheless. He smiled, and nodded at Selphie.

"Thank you," the man addressed the orb, "you may leave us now."

The orb sucked the wires back inside itself, and rolled out the open window. Selphie quickly rubbed her eyes and sighed.

"A little bizzarre?" said the man, with a touch of digital enhancement to his voice.

Selphie laughed nervously. "I...guess I'm not used to it."

"Not your thing, eh?" the man chuckled, "well, that's all right. It's my love."

Selphie watched him trail off, and stood in uncomfortable silence. "Sir..." she finally ventured. "Are you Kore?"

"I am called many things," said the man. "But you may call me Kore, if you wish. And your name?"

Selphie swallowed. It's, uh, Selphie, sir."

"Selphie. Well, it's quite nice to meet you."

"Thank you, sir," she replied. "Um, Kore, sir, I came to ask you a few things...do you mind?"

The old man laughed. "No, child, of course not! I'm taking a break right now as it is. Setting up the new office, and all. I seem to travel a lot these days, always on the run...but I digress." He motioned to the floor. "Do sit down."

Selphie crossed her legs and had a seat on the dusty floor. "Well..." she trailed. "I dunno how to start, really...but I have a friend who knew you. And I...kinda want to know more about him, and I thought if I knew more about _you..._does this sound strange?"

"Ah," he replied, "not at all. You could say that I'm a cross between a doctor and a scientist. I perform research on bionic systems, and their ability to aid or replace human function. And I implement this research on young men and women in need of aid."

Selphie nodded, as the man called Kore continued on.

"For instance, if a boy is born with a spinal disorder, I can inject his spine with nanites that enhance his bone and nervous structure, thereby correcting the problem. One could say I'm a philanthropist, too. I pay for it all myself. Now, who did you say knew me?"

"Oh, a friend of mine," said Selphie. "His name is Aren Bowes..."

Kore's eyes lit up. "Aren Bowes! Aren _Bowes? _You know that man?"

"Um...yes?" she ventured.

The man stood still for what seemed forever, until he finally spoke. "Well, you are very fortunate to. Aren is a special young man. I'm extremely proud of what I made him."

What you...made him? Selphie thought.

"What do you mean?" she asked. "He...well, he doesn't seem to talk about himself much."

Kore's words began to burst forth, like a proud old man showing off his son. "Oh, Aren was a _basket case _when he came to me. You see, when he was born in Dollet during its conflict with Galbadia. No parents, no nothing...just some worthless street urchin. But when he was twelve, he was playing in the street when Galbadians staged an unprovoked attack. It's the _'_Hale Street Massacre,' I'm sure you've heard of it."

Selphie had not, but she hid the phrase in her memory.

"Anyhow," said Kore. "A Galbadian rocket struck a nearby vehicle, and Aren was in the blast range. He was struck in the _head _with a shard of metal, about _this_ big!" He spread his hands to the appropriate size for the long metal piece.

Selphie gasped and leapt back. "Oh, _Hyne!"_

"Oh, _yes! _Right through the skull, too. Fractured his face all up. And the force severed both of his optic nerves clean off. No brain damage, thank Hyne, that'd have been tough to fix. But Aren was totally blind from then on."

Selphie shook, and curled up.

"So basically, he wandered around the streets for about two weeks with the metal in his forehead..."

"_Hyne!" _she screamed.

"Wait, I'm not done!" said Kore excitedly. "But one of my Vultures happened to be on a field test, and it spotted Aren and brought him back. I sure had my work cut out for me! First I fused up his skull, of course, can't risk damaging that _brain. _But his eyes were totally useless. I had to remove them."

Selphie was growing paler by the second.

"I replaced his _entire _optical nervous system!" cried Kore triumphantly. "I ran fiber-optics into his sinus cavities, and gave him brand new eyes, and I sent sonic-sensitive metal rods around the inside of his skull. Now _that much _was a bit more painful than I'd planned. I'll admit that."

"Oh Hyne, oh _Hyne! I can't..."_

"I know, I can't believe it either! He lived! But here's the beauty of it. The new eyes give him color vision, but no depth or pattern recognization. So _that's _where the metal rods come in! I installed custom-made sound receptors on his ears. So _sound, _in essence, becomes _sight!_ The color, combined with his sonar-like vision, can mimic the sense he lost before. It's never been duplicated! He can see in pitch darkness! He can hear something miles away!"

Selphie fell sideways to the ground and shut her eyes tight. "Oh...oh _Hyne, _oh my _god..."_

"I gave him a few other tricks, too," said Kore. "I'm sure you've alerady seen those. And I'm sure they came in handy after he escaped to the military. Oh, but I'm so proud of young Aren. I'd like so much to see what he did with himself. You wouldn't happen to know where he is, would you?"

~

Aren stopped the Screamer before Kore's warehouse. His floodlamp threw a blinding light onto the garage door. The sleek bike rumbled menacingly; passers by took notice and ran for shelter.

Inside the cockpit, Aren unfitted a Nebrian military helmet from over his head. Between his handlebars was a series of switches and buttons; he flipped a few, and sighed. The cockpit slid open and he stepped out. His flourescent-lined suit glowed as the floodlight dimmed out.

The orb once again rolled off the roof. It immediately sprung to life with its gangly arms and legs, and poked an eye toward Aren. "What is your business here?"

Aren's metal glove closed on the red eye and snapped it to pieces. The orb fell backwards; he crushed it with his boot. He stretched out his arms. Sonic energy built around his wrists, then coarsed through back through his forearms, and finally released though his palms.

The garage door exploded in chunks of twisted metal and Aren stepped slowly inside.

"Kore!" Aren screamed. "Come out _now!"_

A skinny old man was bent over one of the steel boxes. He wore a pair of shredded-up jeans, and a black vest without sleeves. His ghost-white arms were covered with metal implants. Deep holes were drilled at the sides of his elbows and hydraulics showed forth. His face was bone-thin and scraggly. Dusty grey stubble covered his lower jaw, and a frazzled bunch of hair protruded from his chin in an ugly goatee. His head was mostly bald; a few hairs were present where sheet metal was not.

The man raised himself and looked Aren's way. "Aren Bowes!" he replied, in a voice that froze him in fear. "Welcome home."

Aren stood firm and silent at his spot. Sensors at the corners of his eyes checked his peripheral for surprise attacks. His heart pounded tremendous thumps and his stomach squeezed in tension, but his stone face did not show.

The man stood beside Aren. "My boy, it's terriffic to see you again. Just look at you!" 

He swished his bony hand at Aren's shoulder. Aren quickly dodged away, once again facing the man. "Oh, come on," the elder chuckled, "you can relax around your old man!"

"You're not my father, Kore," said Aren deeply. "Or Snap's, or anyone else you've torn apart and sewn back up. We're not grateful to you."

Kore laughed, and walked feebly toward a wooden crate. "You just misunderstand me, that's all," he said. "You're ingrateful. One day you'll appreciate what I've done. They _all _will."

Aren watched carefully, as Kore lifted a prybar, and cracked the crate's lid open a bit. "Well, then, I suppose you'll make an attempt on my life."

Aren shook his head. "I'm not Terran military anymore. I'm SeeD."

Kore chuckled once again. "You don't say?" he called, and peeked into the crate. "Now _that _disappoints me! My greatest creation is a low-life bounty hunter."

"Well, I'm so good at _killing _things, I thought I'd stay in the field."

"Touche', Frankenstein." Kore was paying more attention to the wooden box than his visitor. "So get on with it."

Aren smelled a horrible stench; dead tissue. He knew it immediately, but played dumb. "There's a price on my head," he said. "I don't know how much, but I know Mikael Midas is involved."

"Midas!" Kore shouted in sarcasm from half-inside the crate. "He's alive too. How lovely. We'll be one big happy family again!"

Aren widened a frown. He knelt down beside the largest of the metal boxes. "I heard from Snap that someone took a shot at you, too. Mind telling me who it was?"

Kore raised triumphantly from the crate. Lifted carelessly in his hands was a blue and black metal helmet, a Galbadian soldier's. Kore shook the trophy; a dull thumping sounded inside.

"This gentleman here!" Kore sneered triumphantly. "Wanna check it out? You oughtta see the look on his face! Worth a thousand words."

Aren thinned his eyes; he stood and folded his arms. 

"Fine, Frankie, be that way," old Kore chuckled, tossing the occupied helmet up and down like a child's ball. "Can't decide what to do with him yet. Maybe I'll just make an end-table out of him."

"Who did he work for?" asked Aren dryly.

Kore ran to a steel box; he kicked it, and the lid popped violently off. A grisly Vulture rose from inside. "I'll give you a hint...Trabia Stratagem. This whole thing's all about Trabia Stratagem."

"I know it is," said Aren. He eyed the Vulture carefully; it sported two Hellcaster machineguns.

"Then you've _obviously _already figured it out, and you're here to kill me for a little revenge."

"Not so," said Aren. "I just want the hit taken off. Who else knows about Trabia Stratagem?"

Kore's eyes lit up. He wrapped a slender arm around Aren's neck. "Think, my boy! Who had a copy of the plans? Who's recieved _all _of Galbadia's military equipment since its fall? _Who wants you dead?_"

Aren's robotic eyes waned. His mind trailed to the evening he sat befor his computer, the night when two copies of Trabia Stratagem appeared on his screen.

"...It's Garden."

"'Atta boy!" Kore shouted. He stepped away from Aren. "Kill him," he commanded. "Just for the fun of it. I feel like sewing something up today."

The Vulture raised both Hellcasters. But Aren was ready in advance. His right arm was raised; he fired a spinning razor blade from his wrist. It struck the machine through the chest and felled it instantly.

Two more Vultures appeared from inside the biggest crate. Aren reached to his belt and retrieved a miniature remote. He pressed its only button; a crunching explosion ripped the steel and Vultures to pieces.

A metal visor slid into place before Aren's eyes. It extended down, covering his face, and up, shielding his tatooed scalp, until his entire head was protected. Armor clanked heavily against cement, as Aren turned to Kore.

The old man backed away. A hailstorm of orbs dropped from the ceiling above and landed between himself and Aren. The guardians unraveled into their full-size and whipped steel tendrils at Aren's head.

"Sidearms," called Aren. From behind his back, two large squarish semi-autos appeared, courtesy of two robotic claws. Aren grabbed up the guns and fired with both hands, striking down the approaching orb guardians with efficience. Wirelike arms and legs convulsed and knotted into a pile of scrap on the floor.

Empty clips dropped from Aren's guns. His forearms opened; two fresh clips slid into place and the sidearms cocked themselves loaded. Aren's metal legs smashed through the sea of wiring as he approached Kore.

Kore's smile began to lessen as he grew near to the warehouse's wall. "That's my boy," he jeered. "Still got it. And the sticky bombs were cute, I should've seen 'em coming. But you just can't kill me. Just give up, boy, you can't."

A box beside Kore exploded. From within, a skeletal, humanoid robot emerged. Its black metal body was thin and without armor, and its left arm was without a hand. A long sword was locked there in its place.

"He's bulletproof," shouted Kore. "He's got reflexes twenty times the human norm! And that blade's diamond-cut, Aren. It'll slit through that armor like nothing. So let's have those guns, eh? Maybe I'll call him off."

Aren brought the firearms to his sides. The clasps pulled them into place in his back. He folded his steel-covered arms in silent wait.

The robot charged his way and lunged. Aren sidestepped. He ripped the bladed arm clean off, and threw it across the room. His shining glove wrapped around the hydraulic neck and lifted the cyborg off the ground. Aren grasped the remaining arm, pulled it off, and thrust it into the robot's stomach. It convulsed and Aren dropped it. His boot crushed the shining black head.

Aren shoved Kore's frail body against the wall. His hand pressed hard into Kore's weak chest. The helmet retracted back into the visor, which slid away into Aren's ear augments.

"I don't care about me," Aren sneered into Kore's terrified face. "I can live with the pain. I can _deal _with the nightmares. But what about the people who _can't? _How many took their own lives because you made them _freaks_, and they couldn't bear to wake up to the scars? How many have you _murdered _on your _torture tables?"_

Kore choked for breaths. "Egh....Aren...I...I _made you see! _I gave you _sight, _my boy!"

Aren closed a bruising hand on Kore's bald head. "I'd rather be _blind!" _he screamed.

He stood, and backed away. "You're dying, Kore. But not like we died. I'm not the killer you are. I'm not even going to watch."

Kore looked down to his chest. A needle stuck from the center of his vest. "Aren...what have you _done_ to me?"

"Poisoned you," said Aren. "Pray to Hyne; in seconds that injection will paralyze your lungs."

"Oh....oh Hyne! Oh, it can't _be! _Someone's finally killed Kore! Oh, mercy me!"

The old man's breathing began to slow. He choked and coughed in desparate search for air. The losing battle lasted a few seconds, and he slumped to the concrete floor. Aren turned and slowly walked toward his self-made entrance.

Kore's voice, and laughter, made him face the old man again.

"Don't go yet, my boy."

Aren spun about; Kore was standing upright, and smiling madly. He held a pistol in his weak hand. The needle still protruded from his vest. "You stupid, pure-hearted wuss, you should've _shot_ me when you had the _chance. _I don't have _lungs, _Aren! I've been physically _dead _now for five _years!"_

Aren stood, silently attentive.

"But hey, you did pretty good. I'll give you that much. And this needle's really jammed in here good. Feels like you went through my breastbone."

Aren gave a single nod.

Kore's face went blank. He darted his eyes down; his vest was partially unzipped. Inside, the needle pinned a plastic explosive to his chest.

Aren stepped once again to the exit. He retrieved the remote and pressed it, and felt the warehouse shake with the deafening blast. Smoke cleared and silence rose as he reached the hole in the garage door.

The sudden clap of a gunshot bounded off the bare walls. Aren felt the bullet ricochet off his shielded back; it knocked him into the door. He turned quickly to assess. At the far end of the warehouse, an old man with a bushy white beard aimed a handgun his way. Another shot flared at the shadows around him.

The second bullet hit the door above his head. Aren froze.

A chain wrapped around the bearded man's neck, and twisted back. The old man fell forward with a gruesome _snap, _and dropped the gun. Selphie stood atop him weilding her nunchaku. Her eyes were wide-open in terror; she shook nervously as her eyes scanned the the room. She found Aren, and screamed and ran his way.

~


	24. Author's Note

~

a/n:

Heh, I thought this one might be long, and the last chapter was long enough as it is, so I figured I'd give the a/n its own "chapter." That way you can skip it! =) I feel that I'm at _least _halfway done with this one and I'm at a point where I can take a quick second to rant. So without further ado, here we go...

I must first play the role of lame-arse award nominee, and begin the thankin'. To the handful of terriffic people who have reviewed so faithfully, thanks so much! Athena88, anti-gravity, amyangel, NightsDawne, kurai illusion and PERSON37, you guys rock. You really keep me updating. And mad props* (whatever those are...) to Faltering Hues, who has reviewed like _every _chapter since she found _T5. _You have no idea how much of an ego you've given me. :)

If anyone has suggestions for the story, I'm always open to hear them. I never expected people to actually _like _Aren! He's a fan-made character playing a huge role, and that's normally not a good thing in a fanfic...I'm glad he's working out; he's a challenging character to write and I try to keep him as rounded as possible. I'd also like to let everyone know that Aren is _not _me!** I don't like sticking myself in fanfics. That's weird. Although Selphie is _extremely _cute...

I'm glad some people are enjoying _Trabia Stratagem. _Thanks again for your reviewing, and I promise to keep updating as frequently as possible. º

Industrialis

~

Footnotes

* If any reader has information regarding "mad props," or how to obtain them, please mail them in.  
** Yes he is.  
*** No, no he's not. Really. Different guy.  
º Whenever I feel like it.

;)


	25. Fallback

~

Musical accompaniment: "Track thirteen" by breaking benjamin

~

Quistis ran from the hotel room's kitchen and into Selphie's bedroom. Her friend's few articles of clothing were still zipped up in her travel bag. Her bed was neatly made; she had not slept there. Quistis glanced at the digital clock on the wall: three-thirty in the morning.

She fell back on her sofa, plagued by a nervousness that made her physically sick. She held her stomach painfully, she shook and breahted in sharp pants. A scribbled-on notepad was crushed in her hand. She brought it to her face once again.

Hi Quisty!

You needed sleep so I decided not to wake you. I'm worried about Aren. Gonna go find him. Be back soon!

Selphie!

She'll kill herself! Quistis agonized. _Doesn't she realize that guy is dangerous? Why the hell is she going after him? Bowes could be ready to snap, for all she knows..._

And now she's lost in a city we've never even been to...oh Hyne, she's gonna die. I know it...

Her head throbbed. She held it between her knees and pulled at her hair; the sudden migrane-like onset grew more tense as she thought horrible thoughts. Poor Selphie raped and bleeding to death in some dark Nebrian alley. Poor Selphie laying with a broken face at the feet of a crazed Aren Bowes.

She'd already be dead. She would, if not for us then she'd be dead! And she will...she'll die tonight...and I can't...

Her bawling eyes drained into her bathrobe. Her headache grew; it shook her head with terrible force each time it throbbed. Her stomach was horribly upset; she felt near vomiting with each breath she took. Quistis forced the thoughts from her mind, she reached to control herself.

Look at you...you're getting all worked up...just relax, and you'll...you'll think of something...

But the pain increased. She gasped as the headache shook her nearly unconscious. Her body was weak and shaking. A cold sweat dripped from her brow, and she swayed dizzily off center. She felt her breaths tighten. Her heart raced.

She fell weakly from the couch. Her head pounded the carpeted floor. The pounding shattered through her head with terrible force. She closed her eyes and felt herself choke, and shake, and drift away.

A light, dreamy sensation overcame her; a gentle wave passed through her body. Her lungs opened; she heaved in a wonderful breath of air. Her stomach eased itself down, and the headache dissipated away. Her muscles lost their locked tension and her cold shakes left her body. She felt ease; a relaxation, yet such an exhaustion.

Quistis felt a careful touch on her cheek. Her body lifted lightly from the ground, and she felt herself wrapped up in someone's arms. Her head rested betwen an open jacket, and against a young man's chest. He held her against him, and lightly rocked her back and forth. But he did not speak. 

Quistis felt his heartbeat against her cheek. Her savior seemed nervous. She felt his breath on her head. It was quick, and perhaps a little to careful not to disturb her.

She brought her hands to his jacket's shoulders, and rested them there. It took tremendous strain. She tried hard to raise her weary head, but failed, and it fell back to her savior's chest. A gentle hand, covered in a leather glove, lay under her chin, and raised it up. Quistis slowly opened her eyes.

She knew his face. Auburn hair was draped carelessly over a long white scar on his forehead. His determined eyes looked on her with care. His pointed chin lay between the feathery collars of his jacket. His lips were a frown of concern; they lightened some when he saw her opening eyes.

Quistis closed her eyes and sighed, and lay her head back upon his chest.

~


	26. Ashes

~

Musical accompaniment: "Echelon" by 30 Seconds To Mars

~

Flames rose from the glowing orange mass that was once Kore's warehouse. The roof had long given way to the intense blaze. Concrete walls, slowly mangling with their melted steel frames, crumbled and collapsed in heaps, and threw into the wind a flurry of sparks.

Aren stood in the rust-red street beside his waiting Screamer. His grey eyes were intent on the fire. Selphie stood at his side; her hand was wrapped in the metal fingers of his glove.

The building was near-destroyed, and its flame was dying down. Its occupants, human and otherwise, living and otherwise, had long become ashes. But Aren was alive. He had sworn to himself long ago not to fall victim. He had promised to make something of himself, despite his shortcomings, or his adversaries, or whatever stood in his way. He would grow stronger; each wound would serve as a lesson learned, and never would he make the same mistake twice.

He wondered if he was growing close, if he would ever become "somebody." If he would ever be able to rise above his pain, his pity, and be the great man he wished to be.

His blank grey eyes looked down at Selphie. Her eyes were still fixed on the lessening blaze. But her hand was locked together with his; she swung it gently to and fro.

Aren nodded inwardly. He was not sure who he was, or what it was he wanted to become. But something deep down said he was off to the right start.

~


	27. A Welcomed Visit

~

Squall sat patiently beside Quistis' sofa, in a chair he had pulled up from the kitchen. He had covered her with blankets, which consciously or not, she had lightly cuddled into, and smiled. Her fever had faded long ago; Squall no longer needed the cold compress he had made for her forehead.

That was close, he said to himself, for perhaps the thousandth time. _That was awfully close. I've never felt such a strong poison...it had her completely paralyzed..._

He shook off the awful thoughts. _She's fine, she'll be all right. I wish she'd wake up, thought...just for a moment, just to give me a sign. I could cast another cure, just to be sure. But she'd be asleep for hours longer if I did. I'll just wait._

Quistis rolled lightly in her makeshift bed. The tension he once saw on her face had long washed away. She sighed again, with another little smile.

Squall felt himself blush; he shook his head, and buried his face in his hands. _I'm tired. I've been sitting here for hours. I need something to do. But I can't just leave her here...I can't let her wake up by herself. Not after something so horrible as that. I need to find out who..._

He snapped up his head. _What...what if this isn't her place? Hyne, she could have been abducted for all I know! We could both be in danger! I've got to wake her, or get us out of here..._

The door burst open. A young man lumbered into the doorway. He was palefaced, scarred and bald, with lined tattoos running over his scalp. His ears were covered with circular metal implants. A heavy, worn-down suit of battle armor adorned him, and it shone an unsettling neon hue.

"Hey, Quistis?" he called wearily. "I'm home! And in case you're wondering, I found..."

Squall leapt from his chair and retrieved a handgun from his belt, pointing it the young man's way. "Who's there!" he cried.

The soldier pulled up a handgun of his own, considerably larger than Squall's. "The hell are _you!" _he replied irately, and not the least bit threatened.

"What are you doing with _her?"_ sneered Squall, pointing to the couch with his free hand.

"What are _you _doing in my _room _with a _gun?!"_

A female voice from behind the doorway interrupted them both. "Wait! Hold it! What's going on?"

A young, brown-haired woman shoved the soldier aside. Squall gasped, _it's Selphie!_

Selphie took a single look, and dropped her jaw. She squealed in joy. "_Squa-all! It's you!"_

Squall tried his best smile, which he assumed looked rather pathetic. He still held his gun to the soldier."Uh, hi! Selphie, do you...um..." he alluded with a nod toward the man, "do you know him?"

Selphie laughed. "Of course!" She shoved the man's pistol aside brashly. "Put that thing away! And Squall," she said, turning once again to him, "this is a _very _close friend of ours, Aren Bowes! I'm sorry guys, this...looks a little akward..."

Squall flipped his pistol around, holding the barrel. "Squall Leonhart," he nodded uncomfortably. "Nice to meet you. Catch." He threw the gun to Bowes.

"You don't say," replied Bowes rather animately, catching the gun. "I've read about you. What are..."

Selphie pushed him aside and ran to Squall, arms open with a beaming smile. _Uh oh, _thought Squall, _here it comes..._

But Selphie seemed to catch his discomfort. She skidded abruptly to a halt before him, and instead offered a courteous wave. "Heh, hey Squall! It's great to see you..."

Judging by the look that came next on her face, she was thrown for a loop. Squall stepped forward and gave her a hug. Not a good hug by any account; he was far too uncomfortable, but at least he was giving it a shot. Selphie dropped her confused gaze after a moment, and squezed her frind tight.

"You too," replied Squall. He pulled her away, almost jokingly, in an 'all right, that's enough' fashion. "I got a message from Cid that you were in trouble. I'm pretty sure I know the whole story..."

Bowes laughed. "I doubt it. I don't think _we _know the whole story." He shook hands with Squall. "Good to have you aboard."

Movement from the sofa made them all quiet down. Quistis yawned, and sat up groggily. "Mmhh...what's...what's going on?"

Selphie pounced on the bed and tossed them both off. "Hey, Quisty! We're back! And guess who we brought with us!"

Squall shook his head. "It doesn't take much, does it?" he half-smiled.

"Very, _very _little," Aren laughed in reply.

Quistis dug herself out from the mess of blankets. "What...wait! Wataminnit, hold on!" she moaned irately. "I can't...can't even _see _straight!" The group laughed once more; Selphie helped to pull her the rest of the way out. Quistis straightened her robe and rubbed her eyes.

"...Selphie!" she cried, grabbing her by the arms, "you're back! I can't believe you...why in Hyne's name would you...well...you're lucky to be alive, you know that?!"

"I know, I know," said Selphie. "That one ranks high on the 'stupidest things I've done' list...but Aren found me and brought me back."

Quistis gave Selphie a hug. "Don't _do _that, all right?" She got a nod from Selphie. But the perky young lady raised an eyebrow, and pointed silently over the sofa.

Squall watched as Quistis stood. Her eyes brightened and she smiled. "Squall! That _was..._I...I mean...it's _you!"_

He offered another uncomfortable smile, reached over the sofa and hugged her. "Hey."

"Okay! Okay, wait!" Selphie jumped in place excitedly. "You _gotta _tell us how you've been! Hang on, wait _right _here, I'll go make some coffee...it's four in the morning and I'm _exhausted!"_

"Could've fooled me," smiled Aren. "If you all don't mind, I'm gonna go find some clothes to change into."

Selphie and Bowes disappeared around the corner of the kitchen. Quistis sat tiredly on the sofa; she looked around nervously. Squall leaned against the wall, as nonchalantly as possible.

"Oh, gosh!" Quistis finally laughed. "Here, have a seat!"

Squall nodded as she scooted over, and he sat down beside her. "You had me worried when I showed up," he said.

Quistis nodded, and grimaced an embarrassed smile. "I...I know...I guess I get a little worked up at times. Well, you'd remember..."

Squall shook his head. A lock of auburn hair fell over his eyes; he scrambled angrily to brush it away. "No," he said, "I think there was something else involved. Not to worry you...but I think you might have been poisoned."

He watched her eyes close in exasperation as she dropped her head. "You know...I wouldn't be surprised. It's been horrible lately...and I wonder if it could possibly get worse, and I get poisoned."

She raised her eyes to his, and stared for a long time. He remembered hating these moments, and he remembered why. What was she trying to say? Did she want something from him? Was she still in danger?

I can't stand this, he thought. He could not return her gaze. Looking into the eyes of a friend, this sort of thing always caught him off guard. _I'll never figure her out like this. I can't. Why am I even..._

But he swallowed hard, and pushed his discomfort aside. _I can't just sit here...and not even try._

He met her eyes, their icy blue, and the tears that were forming below them. He focused on his friend; he fought every urge to turn away. And he found that the longer he looked, the easier it became.

She...looks sad. And weak...almost desparate...that was never like her...

Quistis took a breath. She quickly blinked away the tears, smiled courteously and lowered her gaze. She rubbed her face vigorously with her white sleeves. "Heh...sorry...still a little tired..." she trailed.

Selphie leapt from behind them onto the floor. "Okay, I can't even _wait!_ Screw the coffee! Start spillin', mister!"

Squall shrugged and leaned back. Well...okay, sure. Where should I start?"

"Anywhere!" said Selphie. "Like...Hyne, what've you been _doing _for two years? How come you're _here? _Are you gonna _stay? _And what about everyone else?" As she spoke, Aren sat down beside her, dressed in a red hooded sweatshirt and grey sweatpants.

"Well," said Squall, "I'm still with Garden. Just not Balamb. I had some disagreements with Cid and we parted ways."

"You didn't take the commander's position?" asked Selphie.

"No," he replied. "I didn't want it."

"Well _Hyne, _what better job could you have?"

Quistis had wrapped herself back up in the blankets, obviously embarrassed that she was still dressed in a bathrobe. "Yes," she said, "I thought you were thrilled with the position."

Squall shrugged. "I thought it over. Wasn't the thing for me." He turned once again to Selphie. "I'm a teacher now."

Selphie was floored; she slapped the ground with her hand. But Squall had been trying to watch for Quistis' reaction, looking out of the corner of his eye. She took a short breath, covered her mouth, and blinked in surprise.

"Well, who'd have thought!" Selphie chuckled. "The great Squall Leonhart settled down to _teach!"_

Quistis seemed offended by her good-natured remark; she shrank her head into the blankets a bit. Squall did not particularly like the comment himself. "Well," he replied, "I like it better. It's rewarding."

He paused, and tried out the thought waiting in his mind. "And I respected my Instructors very much. I'd like to think someone will have that respect for me someday."

Quistis poked her head from the blanket cocoon. "That's...that's very interesting," she said quietly. "That you teach, that is...uhm, where did you end up?"

Squall loosened his gloves and pulled them off. "I travel, mostly. Most of my time goes to giving speeches, and meeting with each Garden's board of education. I've spent the last two years studying Guardian Forces."

"GF's?" Selphie was more than a little surprised at the mention of Guardian Forces. "Squall, I thought we couldn't use Guardian Forces! The side effects, you know? Our memories? I...thought we all made an agreement!"

Squall thought back: once they had defeated Ultimecia, the group had agreed to disband their junctions with Guardian Forces. It had already been two years since that time; he could barely believe it.

"We did," said Squall. "But there's a lot we didn't know about GF's back then. It's a long story." He rubbed his tiring eyes. "But...I guess that's _my _last couple of years."

"Well, that's really cool!" said Selphie. "So, what's next..." She rubbed her little chin, and then snapped her finger. "Ah! I knew I'd forgotten something! How's _Rinoa?"_

Squall's eyes were no longer tired. He flashed them wide open. To his surprise, Quistis was also animate at the mention of Rinoa's name. She shook her head violently, mouthing _no, no, no._ Squall turned to her; she stopped immediately.

What do I say? he thought. _They're so happy I'm here...I can't just..._

He forced a smile, and took a long breath. "She's fine, just fine. We're not...well...we're not _together_...but she's happier this way."

Selphie took a short gasp. "Oh, Squall! I'm sorry! I didn't know....gosh, I hope I didn't ruin the night!"

"No, that's all right," he said quietly. "Really, it's not an issue at all."

Aren stood and stretched. "Well, I hate to cut this short, but I've had a _really _long night. I'm gonna get a little rest. Anybody else finally ready for sleep?"

Selphie yawned deeply, though she seemed just as energetic as ever. _"I _sure am! Squall, are you staying? Please say you're staying!"

"Yeah," he nodded quietly.

"Great! I really hate to just _leave_ you like this, I just wanna catch up all night!"

He waved them off. "We'll do it tomorrow. It's late. I'm fine."

Selphie gave him one more hug. "Oh, it's so _good _to see you again! G'night, seeya tomorrow!"

He bid her goodnight, and once again apologized to Bowes, who laughed and offered his own apology in return. Selphie and Aren retreated around the corner once again, leaving a brewing pot of coffee unattended.

Quistis turned, and looked over Squall's shoulder, watching Aren and Selphie disappear. Squall was arching his neck as well, though it was more to gain some distance from Quistis than to see Bowes and Selphie off. _You're pathetic, _he said to himself. _You know that?_

Quistis quickly turned herself around, and sat rigidly on the sofa. Almost as rigidly as Squall; he was a little perplexed at noticing this. _She must be exhausted, or stressed...just look at her...she's not herself._

Oh, how in Hyne's name should I know. She's probably creeped out by me, or something. I did just appear here, for Hyne's sake. And it's not like she's said anything. I wouldn't know.

But Squall kicked himself mentally. That attitude never got him anywhere, and it never helped his friends one bit. He suppressed his anxiety, tossed out his negative thoughts, and looked again at her eyes.

She was already looking at his; he had not noticed. It shocked him. But that was Squall, after all. Always overlooking the obvious. He needed to work on that.

Her expression caused him fear; he had never seen Quistis with such a look in her eyes. It faced him again; a desparate gaze, a horrible and voiceless plea for help. Her glass-blue eyes were misted by welling tears. Such a pitiful gaze he had never witnessed from the confident, professional eyes of Quistis Trepe.

The dagger of epiphany made its harrowing trip deep into Squall's heart, a gift courtesy of both memory and conscience. He _had _seen her look this way. He _had _witnessed poor Quistis begging for his aid. But only once.

And last time, he had not handled it so well.

He frantically searched his mind for something to say. Nothing: frozen, stalled, he could not come up with a thing. He cursed at his horrid antisocial self. He wondered if he looked as pathetic as he really was.

A musical tone sounded in the kitchen - a triumphant announcement that the coffee was ready. Quistis turned to look again over the sofa. She placed her hand on the cushioned seatback, and quickly, nonchalantly wiped her eyes as she glanced. Squall caught her discomfort; he cursed himself again.

Quistis faced him. "Are you tired?" she finally said, her voice carrying most of the professionalism he remembered.

"Not really," Squall replied, quickly and quietly as always. Nothing more to say, never the conversationalist.

She nodded toward the pot of coffee. "Feel like talking?"

"Sure," he nodded. And he surprised himself. He smiled. Not forced, not his usual painful smile. He only imagined how akward it must have looked, but it was his own genuine smile.

~


	28. Guardians at Arms

~

Irvine stretched himself onto the thick-grass ground, and propped himself up with one arm. White-haired Tamya was beside him. She looked across the grassy clearing with vibrant green eyes. She lay beside Irvine just as he was, with one hand keeping her uplifted. The shade of an old oak tree cast over their bodies.

The park had been one of the few areas not affected by Galbadian missles. The trees were still growing tall and strong. Picnic tables and bases of treetrunks were occupied by weary-eyed Trabians in search of respite. Wildlife still dared to make home in the park; squirrels and the occasional woodchuck scurried from the open clearing into the surrounding trees. Songbirds flighted from branch to branch.

The long, wide plain of thick grass was surrounded by a circular wall of trees. Stone monuments of fallen heroes, some old and some new, were lined up along the treelines; they stood like pillars. In the center of this natural coliseum, children tumbled about in some ruleless game they had just made up.

A tall, lanky boy leapt from the tangled pile of mock war. "I'm Ifrit!" he said proudly. "Challenge me and taste my Hellfire!"

"Hah!" called a short, stocky girl with scarred cheeks. "Gimme your best shot! No fire's gonna melt _Shiva!"_

The children untangled themselves, suddenly intent on making sure they could reserve their favorite Guardian Force. Two boys, twins with curly orange hair, proudly announced they were the Brothers.

"Aw, you're _always _the Brothers!" said the Ifrit player. "You don't even _know _the other GF's!"

"Do too!" the twins shouted in unison.

These being obviously strong accusations, the quarrel no doubt escalated into an all-out war. The GF's quickly took sides; the stronger, taller boys went with Ifrit, and the girls and the less athletic sided with the Brothers.

Ifrit scoffed. "Look, the wussy _Brothers _got all the _girls _again!"

"What's wrong with _that?!" _sneered a little blonde who had chosen Siren.

"What're you gonna _do, _put me to _sleep?"_

The Brothers' team erupted into insults, which Ifrit's team absorbed with much relish. Ifrit looked down the line of underdogs with his best dark, Ifrit-like stare. He came across a young boy at the very end, pale-faced with black hair that nearly covered his eyes. One of his arms was skinny and scarred, but the other looked finely muscular. He stood in proud defiance, though his baggy, oversized jeans and sewn-together shirt lessened his presence.

Ifrit laughed. "Don't tell me _you're _playing, Devon!"

The boy nodded solemnly, taking the game for all its precious worth to him.

"Yeah, well what're _you _supposed to be? All the good GF's are taken. You wanna be Cactaur?" The bigger Guardian Forces pointed and laughed along.

The boy named Devon shook his head. "I'm not a Guardian Force," he said, quite imposingly. "I'm _Razor's Ghost._"

Ifrit threw his arms in the air. "You can't _make _something _up, _Devon! It ain't fair! You gotta pick somebody real!"

Devon laughed this time, though nobody was sure quite why. One thing was certain; he had warranted the attention of his entire group. "Oh, you've never heard of Razor's Ghost, eh? He's tougher than _all _you GF's, and he's just a _human!"_

Devon stepped up to Ifrit and his group, who had become visibly curious. "Yeah?" said Ifrit, covering up his interest as best he could, "well, who is he?"

Devon placed a hand on his hip, and pointed his stronger arm at Ifrit's face. "A _real man!_He lived around the Galbadian Conflict in Terra. He was the toughest soldier in the _world! _His armor had machine guns and flame throwers and rocket launchers and _everything! _He was Razor One, leader of the First Razor Batallion! One time, he killed a _thousand Galbadians _with his _combat knife!"_

Devon's well-deserved _oohs _and _ahhs _came from his own group, and even from some of Ifrit's group. But Ifrit would not give in. "Well _who cares! _He ain't magic, so I'm gonna win!"

"I'm not finished!" said Devon. "Of _course _he's magic! There was this battle in Terra called Nebrian Walls, and the Galbadians knew he'd be there, right? But they had no way to _kill _him! So they made this _gunblade _out of _pure magic, _and as soon as he came out of the jumper, they _ambushed _him! Slashed right through him! But he came back as Razor's Ghost, and he's got the _powers _of the gunblade that _killed _him! He's unstoppable!"

Ifrit seemed to approve. "Fine, Razor's Ghost! Let's see if you can stand up to Hellfire!"

~

Irvine watched, as Devon tackled a mock Guardian Force to the grass. "Wow," he laughed. "Tenacious little guy!"

Tamya smiled. "Yeah, he's a great kid. Sure loves his Terra."

"I'll say," replied Irvine. He tossed his cowboy hat in the air. "Do his parents work at the hospital, then?"

"Well...no," said Tamya. "His parents were Instructors for Garden. They were killed in the missle attack. Devon's an orphan."

Irvine was jolted. "Whoa...like, that's a drag... Who takes care of him?"

"He pretty much lives at the hospital. The nurses care for him, and he plays with whatever kids will let him."

"Let him?" Irvine raised his eyes.

Tamya nodded. "They...well, they've all got a grudge against Garden. Everyone blames Garden for the attack on Trabia...which is pretty logical, really..."

"No it's not," Irvine said quickly. "Garden was the victim as much as Trabia was. The Galbadians are to blame."

Tamya sat up; Irvine noticed her calm expression quickly sober up. The deep green eyes were now peircing and set determinedly. _Uh-oh, _Irvine moaned inwardly.

"What are you saying?" asked Tamya. "Garden's the _victim?"_

"Well...I mean, sure! They were victims of an unprovoked attack. They had no time to react... they lost a lot of good SeeD."

Tamya thinned a frown. "That's _exactly_ what Garden wants us all to say, you know that? I'll tell you what Garden is. It's a military _cult._ They move into some populated area, recruit the orphans and the losers, and send them on _mercenary _missions around the _world_ to bring in cash."

Guardian forces clashed valiantly on the field of battle. Beyond the treelines that surrounded them, the ruins of Trabia Garden stood for all to see.

Tamya shook her head. "I _hate _Garden. SeeD didn't die, Irvine. Trabians died."

Note to self, Irvine thought. _Don't bring work home with you!_

~

"So, you _really_ knew Aren Bowes?"

Devon stood between Irvine and Tamya as they walked between the trees of the park. The broken sidewalks and buckled streets were but a few yards away.

"Sure did," replied Irvine. "One of my best friends. I was with him in Terra's Galbadian Conflict...that was right after Galbadia's war with Esthar.

"Oh, I know all about it!" said Devon, and Irvine showed visible surprise.

Tamya turned with a cocked eye. "Wait...you're not Terran, are you?"

"No, of course not..." Irvine trailed. _Oh, great, _he thought. _I'm gettin' myself into a jam..._

"So...what were you doing there?"

Think fast!

Irvine closed his eyes, and a split second later, he gave a little smile. "I'm a World Press reporter," he said with confidence. "I was sent to the battlefield to get some pictures of Terra's side of the story. The Press hoped it would get Terra some help."

"Oh! So you didn't fight, then?" said Devon.

Irvine laughed. "I'm not a fightin' man, kid."

~

A/N: 

Sorry! Please don't kill me!! Things have been rough on my end of the Industrial Wasteland as of lately, and I've been hard pressed for solid direction in the story. And as you just found out in the preceding chapter, I still am! =) But for those who still care, I've got a good 4 chapters written up and just in need of some final cleanups before they post. I mean good chapters! Good, juicy chapters that, in my opinion, really drive the plot and clarify some things. My apologies again, I hope I'll never let T5 go this far without an update again.


	29. Back to Square One

~

Quistis sat outside the SeeDs' room, on a half-circle balcony that was just big enough for its two outdoor chairs. The concrete and metal wall reached almost to her chest when she stood; it was the only thing separating her from a sixty-five floor drop.

She could see for miles, and indeed the city stretched as far. It towered high and majestic, its oddly-shaped buildings twisting among each other in masterful combinations of sharp angles and gentle curves. Hovering aircraft zoomed between them, sometimes past Quistis' window, near enough to see the pilots inside the bubble canopies. One such cargo pilot waved cordially as he passed.

The city glowed. But it was an exotic, beautiful glow. Not the hue of billboard lights as in Extronic City. No, the Nebrian glow seemed to come from the city itself, as if the buildings were alive, and sharing some magical secret of life with each other.

Nebria was an astounding, wonderful place. She only wished she could enjoy it further, but this dreaded ordeal was stretching her terribly thin. She'd like to return someday, she thought, and experience it at peace.

A violent breeze whipped up the frigid air around her. She pulled tight her crimson vest, glad she had taken the time to put on some respectable clothes. She thought it odd that an underground world might have wind. This place was full of surprises.

The sliding glass door behind her swished open. Squall stepped onto the balcony, sipping at a cup of hot coffee. He felt the cold and frowned, and zipped his jacket to the top.

He sat in the free chair, and smiled at Quistis. She noticed how forced it was. But she did not take offense; he remembered how difficult it had always been for Squall to smile. She felt honored that he would even try.

"Well," he shrugged, and said quietly and quickly, as he always did. "...Surprise."

"I'll say," she smiled back. "It's wonderful seeing you again."

"You too."

She sighed inwardly; he was awfully hard to make conversation with. But if he was anything like he had been before, this was painfully difficult for him.

"Thanks for coming out here," she said. "I've been dying for someone to talk to lately."

"Sure," he replied simply.

This is going to be tough, she thought. _Maybe it wasn't a good idea...I should forget it...just sleep it off..._

To her dismay, Squall spoke. "So...uh, guess you're wondering how I got in..."

She took the comment for all it was worth. "Yes! Of course! It's been bugging me ever since I woke up! I thought all of those jumper things were disabled."

"They were," said Squall, taking a sip from his coffee. He laughed into the mug, a little nervously. "_Very _well, too."

Quistis giggled along. "Yeah, Irvine called us, he said he couldn't find a way in either."

Squall raised his head. "He's all right?"

"Uh-huh," she nodded. "It's a _long _story...and I don't even _know _it, to tell you the truth! For some reason, he's in Trabia. I think Aren knows what happened. But he's just fine."

"I'll talk to Aren tomorrow, then," Squall seemed to make a mental note. Quistis caught his professional air. It took her years back, to when they fought side by side in the greatest adventure of their lives.

"Oh, but please continue," she egged him on. "So nobody can get in or out, right?"

Squall shook his head. "Guess not."

"But _you," _she pointed with excitement, which she hoped would put him at ease. "You made it in! How?"

Squall grinned, and set his cup down. "Do you remember Diablos?" he asked quietly.

"Sure...Diablos, the Guardian Force?"

"Mm-hmm," Squall nodded, "remember how you helped to get him?"

Quistis nodded.

"Well, I told him you were in trouble, and he said he'd bring me here as soon as I wanted. He cast a spell called 'Ripspace,' and brought me right to the gates."

She dropped her jaw in amazement. "You...you _spoke..._with _Diablos?"_

"He holds you in high regard."

"I...I've never heard of such a thing!"

Squall nodded somberly. He blew into his thin-gloved hands. "Garden did a lot of things wrong," he finally said. "Took the wrong approaches....if they hadn't, things might have turned out differently. Maybe better."

Quistis was at once shocked, amazed, and confused. Squall had discovered something since they had parted ways. It had changed him, how much she had no idea, but there was a change. He seemed burdoned. By this, and perhaps by Rinoa. Of course, by Rinoa as well.

She wished she had a single thing to say. But nothing came; she smiled and pretended to understand.

Squall blinked his eyes, so strangely bright and focused for this late at night. "Ahm...was there something on your mind?"

Quistis rolled her eyes and sighed. "Well...I'm...not sure, now. Perhaps I just need to forget about it...just take my mind off it, you know?"

She stood, and leaned forward on the strong balcony wall. Squall joined her, placing folded hands on the concrete ridge. He nodded, stone eyes staring down at nothing in particular.

"Glad I could help," he whispered a quaint laugh.

"Oh, you are!" she said. "Really, you are... Well, this might sound silly...but, it's comforting to know there's someone on my side. Or...at least, someone who hasn't _chosen _one yet..." She trailed in a light laugh, with a trace of nervousness.

Squall looked up. His eyes were strong-set and cleanly focused, above heavy lines that trophied his tense SeeD life. His famous scar still ran across his forehead, above his nose, nearly to his cheek. Squall Leonhart was barely older than twenty, but he commanded an air much older, much more mature than his age. He always had.

Quistis found it to be a terrible thing, but at the same time, an incredible one.

Squall changed his gaze. He fixed it upon some point in the glowing Nebrian city. "I remember," he said, "there was a time a few years ago, at Balamb Garden. You took me to the outlook outside the Training Center. You were burdoned...there were some things going on. Some changes. And some of it had to do with me."

"I remember..." she nodded blankly.

He took a deep breath, and turned to face her, once again meeting her with his careful eyes. He stepped close to her, and folded his arms on his coat, and shook his head.

"I wasn't on your side. I'm sorry...I've always regretted it."

Quistis could not contain it, in fact, never thought to - a dry gasp left her lips. Her hands weakened their grasp on the wall, and slipped lightly down before her. Within her perfectly shined, long-legged boots, her knees weakened. Under her neat crimson vest, her heart fluttered with reckless abandon.

What... did he say?

Squall cleared his throat, and wiped his scarred forehead. He offered a smile that showed more like a painful wince. "It's...hard to say everything I need to. I've thought it over... I _have _been, for a long time now...and I still don't know where to begin...but I'm sorry."

She held herself in bewildered silence. She struggled to remain standing, to keep her mundane, emotionless composure. But everything within her screamed. Her mind spun in painful, pressured circles; her aching heart pounded through the horrid red vest.

Squall watched her for a moment, but frowned sheepishly at her silence. He shut his eyes and nodded, and left her side for the door. His head was low, dejected; he buried it down in the white mane of his jacket collar.

Quistis noticed a light hue upon his shining black sleeve. It was present at the shoulder - a Garden embossment printed into the leather. The golden head of a lion, with teeth bared imposingly. And around it, in a circle, was a bold inscription. Quistis could not make it out behind welling tears. But she had seen the phrase many a time before.

Pride in Power - Garden - High Instructor.

A terrible pain reared itself within her. She cried out, and fell upon her knees. But before she could sink any further, she felt Squall by her side.

~


	30. Innocence Spilled

~

No one saw the men arrive. They simply appeared, it seemed, at the front gates. They walked through without a question. It was not until they reached the main hall that some opposition faced them.

It began with a routine identification check; one of the guards did not recognize the men. They refused. More guards rushed to the scene, and threats of force were called.

The hall now lay in a scene of terrible gore. Mutilated bodies were disseminated upon the the marble ground, thick with darkening blood. Smoky black uniforms were torn cleanly apart. The once-crystal water of the hall's stone fountain was poisoned by the lifeblood of a struggling victim.

The men ascended in the hall's central elevator, which did not return to the ground floor. Balamb Garden adopted a terrible silence.

~

Headmaster Cid stood behind his office desk. Silent alarms flashed on a computer console that sat beside his phone. A few seconds ago, they were the object of his attention, but it had shifted since then.

Two men stood in the double door entrance. The first he did not recognize - a tall, imposing man, dressed in black military fatigues. His face was edgy, as if diamond-cut. His deep blue hair stood high on end, and his flesh shone a light, pale blue.

But the second man was one he recalled. Cid had not seen Seifer Almasy in nearly two years. He'd hoped to be rid of the young man after the Sorceress' War, and in a chain of events immediately following, assumed to have gotten his wish.

But Seifer stood in the plush office once again. His grey trench coat was worn, and frayed at the bottom with a few deep tears. Beneath it, he wore military boots, and black pants lined down the front with thin pieces of metal. His chest was covered by a polished plate of soldier's armor, emblazoned with the cross Hyperion.

Cid folded his arms. "What do you want?" he called.

Seifer stepped into the room; his accomplice followed, and they shut the doors. Seifer crossed his arms and mimicked the headmaster's stance. "I _want_ to kill you."

He stepped up to the desk, where Cid stood defiantly. "And I'm seriously considering it. After all you put me through, I'd _love _to see you bleeding into that nice carpet of yours."

"Is that what you're here for?" Cid thinned his eyes. "Revenge? Fine, go ahead. Kill me, and get the hell out."

Seifer shook his head. He leaned against the headmaster's hardwood desk. "Business before pleasure. I'll take you up on it when I get my vacation. But I'm on hire at the moment, so time's of the essence. I'm gonna make this nice and sweet."

He bared a scowl down upon Cid. "We're watching you. We know you're still connected with Selphie Tilmitt. And we know you've traded information with her party regarding Trabia Stratagem. We know _everything_."

"I've got no idea what you're talking about," Cid scoffed.

"Shut _up, _old man!" Seifer growled. He gripped the headmaster by his neck, and pinned him against the glass of his office's giant window. "We're going to kill Tilmitt, and Quistis Trepe, and Irvine Kinneas. And we're going to kill _everyone _who helps them, or gets in _our _way. We're not fond of killing Garden Headmasters, so we're letting you live this time around. But we'll take any measure necessary to keep Trabia Stratagem down."

Seifer threw Cid against the ground, and joined his accomplice in leaving out the giant double doors. "This is _way _over your head, Cid," he called over his shoulder. "Consider today a warning."

Cid stumbled to his feet, and cleared his throat. Through the open office doors, he heard the sound of nightmares. Voices screaming, and voices moaning, and voices bawling without hindrance. He saw alarms flash in the empty hall, and he smelled the thick and uneasy odor of blood.

~


	31. Restless Night

~

Nebria's beautiful night glow filtered through the bedroom window. It cast a soft light upon the plush bed, and the wooden dresser behind it. Howling winds ran past the glass, beating upon is surface with their mournful cries.

Aren shut the blinds tight. His bedroom dimmed down to near-blackness, fended off by a single nightlight by the dresser. He unclasped his heavy chest plate, the last of the Terran armor, and lay it in a pile at the foot of his bed. His chest ached of healing wounds from days past. 

He looked carefully down the barrel of his sidearm pistol. The wide, squarish gun was something he had always prided. Only Terran soldiers routinely used the weapon, marked as the Nebrian m340. No traditional military handgun fired a round as large as this Terran piece. Its recoil was immense; few men could fire the weapon without hurting themselves, and fewer could fire it accurately. During the Galbadian Conflict, enemy troops nicknamed it "the Compound" after some m340's were stolen, and the Galbadians suffered wrist fractures trying to use them.

Aren had owned his first m340 since he was twelve. His second, the one he was holding, was a gift from a fellow soldier, a Lieutenant Mikael Midas. 

Midas had passed training with Aren, and the two were in the same military company during the Galbadian Conflict. Aren remembered Midas as an eager young man, headstrong but willing to serve, and pure in heart. He was taller than Aren and featured the pale-white flesh and straight black hair of nearly every citizen of the Terran world. Midas' face was sharp and angular; Aren remembered the lines under his cheeks and eyes, and his thin-set frown. The features perfectly reflected his serious, determined attitude.

Aren had befriended Mikael early on. They were an unstoppable team and highest decorated in their company. But Aren climbed the ladder of ranks faster than Mikael. Before long, he had risen to commander of Mikael's Screamer batallion. Mikael found himself at the receiving end of Aren's orders. The friendship promptly ended.

From then on, and by Mikael's atimate decision, the two were bitter rivals. Mikael fought viciously on and off the battlefield to rise above Aren in ranks. He strove to eclipse Aren in every respect, bearing over him with constant pressures. It was this terrible obsessive mindset, in part, that caused his death.

Aren had never completely dealt with Mikael's death, he decided. It seemed logical. He never thought about it, and Mikael never haunted him in his dreams. After all, man could only stand so much trauma at once. Perhaps someday, when his troubled mind had been eased, Mikael's shattered body would have exhumed itself to torment Aren once more.

Hyne, thought Aren, as he stared at the gun in his hand. _How many demons do I have?_

But he returned to his thoughts-on-hold. Mikael, or someone closely resembling him, was alive. And he remembered the harrowing events of his own demise. He was hell-bent in a vengeful rampage, and weilded the Ice magic to carry it out.

Keep your feelings out of this...you'll only get worked up. Look at the facts.

This nightmarish Mikael was one of Aren's two assassins. They were dispatched by Garden, with the intent of keeping the mysterious Trabia Stratagem from surfacing. Something about the mysterious data, and Aren's knowledge of it, had Garden up in arms.

But I don't know anything!

Aren was more confused than ever. And his confusion was putting his life at risk. He was making moves that pitted Garden against him, but he had no idea what they were. He could not go on blindly and endanger his friends. He needed a position of advantage. And it meant either turning himself in, or discovering Trabia Stratagem once and for all, and blowing the lid off whatever secret it held.

He buried his bald head within his hands, and heaved a sigh. _I never was one to give up._

His augmented ears piqued; a distant ruffle of cloth carried to him from beyond his bedroom wall. Selphie could not sleep, he assumed. How could he blame her?

Poor girl, she must be tearing at the seams...

Selphie had been through so much. She had been beaten, rejected, and pushed halfway around the globe to a place she never knew existed. There had been attempts on her life. Within a number of days, she had witnessed a lifetime's worth of murder, brute violence, and utter depravity. Such things had always been at the heels of Aren Bowes.

But I'm used to it. I can deal with it...she doesn't have to...she's better than this...

She was so much better. She posessed something that he still felt discomfort in thinking about. It was not empathy, for he knew empathy well. The empathetic had the option of being unattached. But every chance she had, Selphie leapt headlong into Aren's life. She faced his his trauma with him. She cried beside him, and on a sweet occasion or two, she laughed with him.

She really cares.

And now she was paying the price. Her carefree spirit was in constant challenge thanks to Aren's multiplying demons. The more she knew of his life, and the more she forced herself in, the deeper she was doomed to fall into Aren's despair.

He heard a distant voice, Selphie's, beyond the wall. Perhaps in a restless nightmare, perhaps she cried. But her utterances were mournful; there would be no peace for her tonight.

She needs to talk, thought Aren. _That's how she is. She needs to vent. I'll go see if she's all right..._

He stood, and passed the dresser's long mirror. A glance became a stare, and he stopped where he was. A low light cast upon his body, and upon the mirror. He stepped away, and for the first time in ages, took in what was before him.

His pale white head was bald, and covered with long, tattooed scars. His grey pupils filled up the entire eye, searching for whatever light the room could offer, and gave the appearance of a set of empty sockets. Hairline scratches ran across his face. A tiny chunk of rock was still lodged below a massive white scar across his forehead.

Aren leaned forward against the dresser. He could barely look at himself anymore. He was beaten, bruised, and grotesque - but never worn down. His physical being was attuned to punishment. He belonged on the battlefield, where his hell-bent determination and terrifying appearance did him good. It mattered not what anyone, even Selphie, said or did to change him. Aren Bowes was beyond help.

Darkness was repelled from the small room. A bluish neon glow shined about the dresser mirror. Aren turned, and looked to his bedside, where his Nebrian battle armor radiated in flourescent color.

~


	32. The Schema

~

Seifer's hyperion-sleeved trench coat swung to his side, blown by the ocean breeze. The tattered garment was no longer in the perfect shape of times past. Seifer had long given up caring for it, though he was seldom seen without it.

He stood on a long metal shipping wharf at Balamb's harbor. Fisherman gave him quizzical glances as they passed; the fresh blood smeared on his clothes was reason enough. But Seifer's cold stare made each one move by without comment.

Mikael's raspy shout drew his attention from the splashing waves. He turned and left his spot, and walked casually to the cement courtyard that served as parking lot to the seaside Balamb Inn.

A long, black stretch limousine was parked in the lot. Mikael walked from the vehicle's side and met Seifer halfway.

"They're looking for you," he said coldly. 

Seifer noted a sense of added importance in Mikael's tone. "Go find someplace to be," he waved.

Mikael frowned. "You sure? What if these guys are from Bowes?"

"Fine," replied Seifer. "Just keep your mouth shut."

They stopped at the limousine's back door. It clicked open, and a gentleman in a black business suit stepped out. He looked of average height, but was hunched forward slightly in an uncomfortable pose. His long-jawed face and neat brown hair were easily recognized. The man appeared to be Rade, the headmaster of Galbadia Garden.

But if it was Rade, something had altered his appearance for the worse. His eyes were bloodshot and swollen. His neck was thin, and his cheekbones protruded from a ghastly pale face. With skeletal fingers, the man leaned himself against the limo's door.

"How'd your little meeting with Cid go?" he wheezed dryly.

Seifer folded his arms. "According to specs. We let him live, but the message was sent. Shall we elaborate?"

"No, no." Rade waved his bony hand. "I don't want to hear anything that might incriminate me later. So long as you got the job done, that's fine. How'd your accomplice fare through the whole thing?"

"Well enough." Seifer nodded toward a proudly standing Mikael. "For somebody who's just been operated on a day or two ago, he's a damned monster."

Rade smiled. "Good. I'm not paying you to be merciful. And this job needs finishing _now. _Don't delay. Get back into Nebria as soon as you can, and finish up."

Seifer nodded gravely at his unhealthy-looking employer, as Rade carefully lowered himself into the seat. The garden master's thin hands shook under the pressure of his underweight body.

"So," Seifer smiled, and cracked his black gloves together. "Feeling well?"

Rade looked up through the rolled-down car window. "Let me remind you," he coughed, and cleared his throat. "That this conversation is still being monitored. Watch what you say."

"Nah," said Seifer, "I'm sure the _real _Headmaster will get a kick out of this." He stepped up to the window, knelt down, and saluted into the sickly Rade's face. "Hello, sir! Thanks for the money to patch up Midas!"

Rade thinned his wrinkled eyelids. "Cut that out, Almasy."

Seifer poked Rade in the forehead. "Still got some work to do on this one. Looks like he'll only last another few hours, at best. Guess I'm still the cream of the crop! Makes me feel kinda special..."

"That's _enough!" _cried Rade.

Seifer gripped his palm over the wrinkled face and squeezed. He thrusted the weak man away, and Rade thudded against the limo's floor.

"Oh, shut the hell up," Seifer laughed. "Now hurry up and _die _before you start stinking up the place."

The tinted limousine window rose up before Seifer. He was faced with his reflection; a sharp-faced, scarred Seifer grinning back at him. And he suddenly felt a painful shock, one that dissipated his cruel humor. The smile he bore did not last long; it shrunk back into its rightful place as a tight scowl.

He slammed the limo door and turned his back on it. The wind pulled at his Hyperion jacket as the car pulled away.

Mikael stood tall, with arms folded across the heavy black shirt on his chest. "What the _hell _did you just _do?"_ he growled. "You think he's gonna _pay _us after what you just pulled?"

Seifer's scuffed leather boots clicked against the concrete as he approached. He placed his hands upon his hips. "One more time, chief?"

"This is my payoff too, Almasy," Mikael stated, pointing in Seifer's face. "I don't care how high-and-mighty you think you are, all right? I've been in the 'killing people' business for a while _myself. _And I'm not gonna stand aside while you pull that stupid macho crap and blow my pay."

Seifer glanced down at Mikael's light-blue hand. He stepped threateningly close; Mikael pulled his arm away, but stood his ground imposingly. Each soldier held a death threat in his cold stare. But Seifer's differed from Mikael's. Seifer held a glare that encompassed the macabre; a contorted visage that expressed not a sense of power, but of depression, and anticipation of doom.

"You have no idea what, and _whom,_ you are dealing with," he said, with the air of disgust in his voice.

"Maybe I ought to know, then." Mikael still held his position.

Seifer cracked a smile. "It's a little much to digest at once."

"Clue me in, and I'll make that decision for myself."

Seifer nodded with mock courtesy, and stepped away. He pointed to the harbor's edge, where the limousine was stopped. The black-suited driver was heaving a long nylon bag into the waves off the pier's edge.

"What if I told you," said Seifer, "that the man we spoke to was _not _the real Evon Rade? That he's a biological stand-in, designed to last a few days and to keep the real McCoy safe from assasinations."

Mikael raised an eyebrow, but kept his arms folded.

"What if I told you," Seifer continued with pale blue eyes baring down. "That there was a way to keep a man alive...forever. Without the trouble of aging or artificial assistance. And that if you died, you could be _resurrected, _even _years _after your death."

The scowl on Mikael's face was gone. Seifer could tell he was contemplating the concepts, turning them over in his head. Long moments passed. Seifer could wait.

"Garden can do this?" Mikael finally asked.

Seifer nodded. "Among other things."

He turned toward the long stone pier, where the limousine was rolling away toward a Balamb sidestreet. Seifer waved his hand for Mikael to follow, and he crossed the empty parking lot.

"Is...is this what the SeeD found out?" asked Mikael, as he caught up.

Seifer shook his head. "It gets far deeper. Long story short is this: Garden has made advancements in the last ten years that eclipse mankind's exploits in the last century, maybe more. These things are kept top secret and will be revealed slowly, when mankind is ready for them."

The two stepped onto the pier, and glanced down at the crystal ocean waves. The long black bag was sinking fast into the depths, carried out by the pulling tide.

"But there was an instance," said Seifer, "about two years ago, when some people found out what Garden had been doing. They couldn't fathom the things they found, or their implications for the future. Those people were angered, and terrified, just as any human being acts when he's confronted by something he doesn't understand."

Mikael watched Seifer intently, but Seifer's eyes were still on the sinking bag. As gravity dragged it deeper down, fish were already nibbling on its edges, inspecting its contents.

"They gathered themselves into a force, and readied for battle. And they prepared to show the world in _one instant _what Garden had taken _lifetimes _to bring to life. Their actions would have spelled catastrophe."

A large fish grabbed hold of the bag's zipper, and gave it a firm tug. As the bag disappeared into the pitch dark, a thin and pale human hand slipped from inside, and wavered fluidly with the current.

"These SeeD," said Seifer, "these men and women we're after, have discovered what happened to those people."

~


	33. Preparation

~

Three o'clock struck on Irvine's wristwatch. He raised his arm to inspect it, then unclasped the leather band and threw it upon his bed.

He took a moment to stand and stretch, and took a glance out his apartment window. Xann Avenue was invisible in the night's darkness. The only light for miles was coming from his apartment building; streetlights had long become a thing of the past.

Not much of a view, he thought. _Actually, I think I prefer it like this._

He adjusted his white muscle-shirt, and sat back upon the torn carpet on the floor. A laptop computer was filling the room with a lazy blue glow; it hurt his eyes if he looked at it too long. But it was the only light in the room; the bulb that hung from the ceiling was shattered apart.

The computer was connected to Garden's information center. It displayed a tasteful Garden logo, and a nostalgic image of Balamb Garden's courtyard as the background image. Irvine tapped at a few keys, and a log-out screen thanked him for his inquiry.

He shut the laptop tiredly. _Strange, _he scratched at his wavy hair. _I'd never expect Balamb Garden to be disconnected to the database. They're normally pretty good about staying online. Bummer, too. If anybody could get me some much-needed info, it'd be Cid._

So now I'm really stuck. The only way back into Nebria is still that jumper. And I've spent too much time out of the picture for my taste. Hyne knows what could've happened to them by now. I need to get in gear, and fast.

His door creaked open, and he rolled to his side to see who the intruder was. Devon, the black-haired boy with the shriveled arm, crept into his room and let the hallway light flood in.

"Hey kid, what's up?" he waved.

Devon shrugged. "Couldn't sleep. Can I come in?"

"Yeah, sure. Shut the door," Irvine said.

Devon closed the door and sat down beside the computer. "There _is_kinda something on my mind, though."

"Okay, shoot, I'm all ears."

"WellTamya said some things today, on the way home from the parkI don't think I was supposed to hear, but I did."

Irvine recalled the event. Tamya had found it difficult to leave the subject of Garden alone. While Devon ran ahead with friends, she spent the walk home in a pointed conversation against the concept of Garden. Irvine politely listened and offered little rebuttal, in hopes of salvaging the day. But apparently, it didn't take much to upset Tamya on Garden issues. She did not speak with him for the rest of the day.

"Aw, don't sweat it, kid." Irvine shrugged and smiled. "Guess it's just a touchy subject, you know?"

"Guess so..." Devon trailed off quietly, and shifted his position on the floor. "Butthat's not really what I wanted to say."

"Oh? What's up?"

Devon sat quietly for a moment, but gave a resolute face, and took a deep breath. "You're from Garden, aren't you?"

Irvine had always been a master at hiding his emotions. His expression remained as it always was; cool and wry, and none of his surprise had the pleasure of escaping him. He set a hand on his belted waist, and another scratched his chin. "You think I'm a mercenary?"

"Oh, don't take offense or anything!" Devon quickly blurted. "It's just that...well, my parents worked for Garden, and I remember them using your name a time or two. That's all."

A smirk left Irvine's throat. "So I'm a Garden soldier, eh? Huh! Don't that beat all. Now, is that a good thing, or a bad thing?"

"Oh, good I guess, from what I can remember. My mom and dad never really, you know, told me what went on. But I always thought it was kinda weird. Didn't really make sense to me."

"Tell you what," said Irvine. "I've spent years looking through a telescopic glass at images of war. Lots of times, it was because of Garden. I don't really know what to make of it either. But I think you hit the nail on the head. It don't make sense at all."

Devon nodded. "So...didn't mean to insult-cha, or anything."

"Don't worry about it," Irvine laughed. He reached into his pocket, and retrieved a plastic currency card. "Here kid," he said. "I'm not sticking around for much longer, so I want you to give this to your friend, okay?"

"Sure," Devon took the card. "What's it for?"

"It'll get her back home, at the least. Do you need one?"

Devon shook his head. "Aw, no. I can't go anywhere. Gotta help with the recovery around here! And I have a nice place to stay at the hospital, too."

"Suit yourself," shrugged Irvine with another chuckle. "The free money's on the table, though."

"Thanks. You gotta leave so soon, though? Tamya'll wanna say goodbye, you know."

Irvine shook his head. "I'm not so big on goodbyes, kid."

~

A/N: Just a short one for the time being. The next few chapters are already in the works, and are huge in terms of story development. I'm taking extra care to make sure they come out perfect...but it shouldn't be much longer..


	34. In Memory

~

Squall choked on a mouthful of saltwater; his eyes burned terribly from thick liquid saline. But he dared not shut them; he stared his blinking eyelids into the darkening abyss. A frigid-cold pressure collapsed into him, and heaved out his remaining breath. Lacerations on his arms and chest gave mighty screams as salt rushed in.

He reached out, struggled blindly; peered into the cold and pressing void. Tumbling over himself in suspension, his sense of direction soon slipped away. Discouragement and panic crept into his aching heart. 

It was not too late! There was still time! Just a little deeper...

His lungs were ablaze for want of a sweet breath of air. But he drove his hands further into the blackening abyss. His jacket was bloated and heavy, filled with the surrounding water, and made every movement a battle. He longed to shed the hindrance off, but no time.

Squall...why don't I understand you? Please, just let me...

Waves of panic shook him throughout. He could see her! He would make it in time! That spot of light in the blackness...it was her!

He fought his convulsing chest, and thrashed his arms and legs, pressing toward the light with all the strength he still bore. He felt the salt-filled water flow across his bruised face. He knew he was moving. But the light was not growing any closer.

Squall...I'm trying...I'm trying my best. But when will you help me?

The spot of light touched his cheek. He cried in silent despiration to the pressing waters, for it was nothing but a pure white feather.

A violent splash; an explosive release from the cold abyss. He felt his chest expand tenfold -- ready to burst -- and then force a violent contraction. A thousand such breaths flooded in and out, within seconds. His eyes were swollen shut, his skull pounded from the inside out. The waves rolled quietly about him, as he struggled to stay afloat.

He would go back down...he had to! There was still time!

Exhaustion was taking its toll. He began to sink; the water was raising to his chin, and he fought to keep his gasping mouth clear of the waves.

"Man overboard! Man overboard! Activating rescue measures!"

No, leave him in the water! He had to try again!

Squall...it hurts...I've been trying for so long...and I can't do it alone...

A metallic clamp tugged at his water-logged jacket, and Squall felt the leather tearing as his body lifted from the icy water. 

The clamp released him, and a cold, hard surface met his buckling legs. He frantically rubbed at his eyes, blinking away what salt he could.

"All hands on deck! First-aid needed on deck!"

The robotic voice's alarmed cry increased the throbbing in his head. Vision blurred painfully, focusing on the metal floor he sat upon. The once-shining silver was hidden under a pool of blackening blood. The guardrail beside him, tall as his chest when he stood, was splashed in the dripping liquid.

He could make it to his knees; no further. His arms, visible through torn jacket sleeves, wrapped around the wide guardrail. Weary muscles strained, as he fought to thrust himself over the rail, and back into the waiting waves.

Squall...it hurts too much to try...I feel ready to give up.

Panic shook through him like a pounding pulse, shortening his breaths, weakening what remained of his tense frame. His hands slipped on the blood. He dropped from the rail, and landed on his face.

He lay in the pool, panting for any sign of strength to return. And as he lay, he followed the blood with his eyes. It ran in a trail on the ship's walkway floor. Bloody handprints covered the walls, and ran along the guardrail. The trail and the handprints grew fresher and brighter, as they grew closer to their source.

At the edge of the ship's bow, Seifer Almasy lay crumpled and still on his side. His face, chest, and arms were soaked bright red in blood. His silver trench coat was spattered in dripping red. The sharp, cold point of Squall's gunblade was torn through the back.

Squall...please don't wait until it's too late! I can't hurt like this forever!

Seifer's gloved hand lay against the steel deck. His open hand was soaked in blood, and was filled with torn and ruffled white feathers.

~

"I'm sorry, Rinoa. I can't make it this time."

He leaned over the Nebrian balcony, facing the skyscraper's dizzying heights with a look of calm. The icy wind blew at his hair, and stung dryly into his eyes.

"I'd make it out to sea, if I could," he said. "But Diablos seems to think I'm best off staying here. But I'm thinking of you."

He raised his head, and looked up. Above him, the massive figure of Diablos floated silently in the air. His dark, muscular form was wrapped in the blue and red of pulsing veins. Razored claws adorned his hands and feet. Wide, leathery wings flapped slowly at his shoulders. His face was covered in a bone-like mask, shaped into the skull of a fanged beast.

"I'm making things better," whispered Squall. "Little by little. But it's not enough. It's too late for you...too late for _us. _Maybe we never had a chance..."

He clenched his fist. "I couldn't give you what you needed...and I can't undo what happened to you. But I won't let it go without retribution. I'll kill him again...I'll kill him as many times as it takes, I swear to you. Whatever Seifer has become, he won't feel a moment's peace...I'll hunt him down for the rest of my life, if I have to."

His eyes closed tightly. "It's all I'm good at," he sighed."

Squall released a small, white feather from his palm. It carried into the sky, blowing off into the darkness.

~


	35. Joy Comes in the Morning

Musical accompaniment and lyrics: "Freefall (From Hand to Hand)" by Stavesacre

~

Selphie let out a relaxed breath, and carefully stretched onto the soft mat. She was alone in one of the martial arts training rooms, a part of the very accomodating fitness center that this particular building offered. Long mirrors lined the walls, and heavybags hung from the corners of the spacious room. The matted floor was taped off into sections for tournament sparring. Flourescent lights made the whitewashed walls seem to glow.

She had closed the doors and switched off the fans to lessen the noise. And she had also kindly asked the soldiers in the weightroom to turn down their radio. Upon seeing Selphie in her skintight black leotard, they had been more than happy to oblige. She had giggled and returned to the privacy of her room.

Closing her eyes, she sat with her legs crossed in the center of the mat. She breathed deeply; cleared her mind.

It's hot in here, she thought. _Wish those fans didn't make so much noise..._ But she caught herself, and pushed the stray thought away. _Relax...just relax...I haven't had a chance to loosen up in a while, I need this..._

She gradually slowed her breaths, and felt her muscles begin to lose their tension.

It smells in here. Like cleaning chemicals, or something...and sweat too. Maybe mine. It is pretty hot in here...

Selphie growled at herself, and tried to relax again.

The door burst open. She leapt backward in shock, skidding on the smooth mat. Two tall, imposing Nebrian soldiers, dressed in military-looking sweatsuits, barged into the room in typically boisterous fashion.

"Sorry, ma'am," said one, nodding to Selphie. "Did we interrupt anything?"

Selphie smiled as politely as possible and stood up. "No," she half-sneered, but covered it up. "No, of course not!"

"Just letting you know we're done for the night. Would you mind shutting off the lights before you leave?"

"Oh, sure," sighed Selphie.

They thanked her and left, closing the door behind her. Selphie wiped her brow. "Let's try that _again," _she laughed to herself. She took her hundredth deep breath, ran her arms down her legs, and slowly stretched. She was surprised how painful it was. She held her arms at her knee for a minute, and closed her eyes, and soon felt herself loosening up. Her sweat-matted hair fell over her forehead.

Tick....tick....tick....tick....

"Hyne, what _now?" _she laughed. A round, white clock hung from the wall, accurately reporting each second to Selphie. She slapped her face, and stepped toward it. Her slippered foot caught a bump on the mat; it sent her flying through the air and falling clumsily onto the floor.

"Oh, forget it," she pouted, and stood, and leaned against the wall. She looked up at the clock; it was three in the morning.

Another sound caught her attention. A distant shout; a battlecry. It repeated itself at even-spaced intervals. Selphie recognized the voice as Aren's. It seemed to come from the other side of the wall.

Selphie left her private room, and took a few steps down a whitewashed hallway. The room next door was open, and as brightly lit as Selphie's. But the fans were blowing full-force; she could hear their low hums from outside. She poked her head through the open door for a look.

The room was constructed the same way as hers, but without mirrors, and it contained a bench press and other freeweights. Aren hung from a high chinup bar. He was upside down, his legs wrapped around the bar and his arms crossed over his chest. He gave a powerful shout, and pulled his torso into a situp, then relaxed, and repeated the motion in quick succession.

Selphie caught herself staring. Aren's legs and arms were fitted with his trusty steel armor, but his heavy breastplate was laying on the floor beside him. His chest and stomach were perfectly toned, his shoulders broad and imposing. His bald head, and his pale chest and back were lined with black tattoos. Sweat dripped from his closed eyes; he growled again and raised himself to the bar.

She couldn't help an innocent smile.

Aren flipped backward; he landed on his hands and rolled to his feet, facing the bar. His stance was proud; wide and alert.

Selphie coughed lightly. "Um...hi there," she whispered. 

Aren spun one-eighty; Selphie waved meekly as he realized it was her.

"Oh, hello Sel..." he stopped short for a moment, his grey eyes rather taken aback as he noticed her form-fitting attire. Selphie hid a bashful smile and turned slightly away as Aren gathered his thoughts. 

"Hi, Selphie," Aren sighed, and wiped his thin eyes. "I thought you were asleep."

"Yeah, I couldn't," she shrugged, "I needed a little time to relax. Just sit and clear my head, you know?"

Aren nodded. He walked, his attention still on her, to a table against the wall, and retrieved a towel, which he dried himself off with. He unlocked the metal plates from his arms, picked up a neatly-folded white shirt and slid it on. Selphie laughed at herself; she frowned inwardly at him for doing so.

"I don't know how you do that stuff," he chuckled. "That yoga, or meditation or whatever...it'd take me months just to _sit still _like that..."

She laughed, and they sat together against the wall. 

Selphie sighed and shook her head. "Aren...I can't say it enough...I'm so sorry." She placed her folded hands between her crossed legs. "You were right. He just came straight out, and told me the whole story, and...it was horrible. It just tore me up...I couldn't stand _thinking _about something like that...happening to _anyone..._"

She lifted her eyes. "...Especially you."

Aren's grey eyes smiled at her. He placed his hand on her shoulder. "Thank you," he said quietly.

Selphie drew closer, and they sat in each other's gaze and smile. 

"You know," said Aren, "I was _incredibly_ wrong about you. You were amazing." He squeezed her close. "You saved me."

"Oh, I did not," she laughed shyly. "You'd have done just fine on your own...I just kinda panicked, I guess...I...well, I dunno..."

"You did, Selphie...you saved my life. I'm sorry I ever doubted you."

She smiled bashfully, and searched for a reply. But she came up with nothing, and once again fell into silent gaze upon Aren's grey eyes. A pair of eyes unique to the world. They had lost their color long ago, and in its place, they were filled with a thousand stories. Shadows of despair, pain, and longsuffering; but ultimately, of perserverance. And when she looked deep enough, and long enough, Selphie could even see a trace of hope.

Aren breathed a sigh, and gave an uncomfortable smile. "I'm sorry, for everything," he said gently, peering into her with the eyes she adored so much. "I can't tell you how sorry I am."

She wrapped her hands around his waist, and slid to him warmly, always watching his eyes. She felt the beating of Aren's heart; tense and quickly at first, but gradually slowing as she nestled against him. Under her embrace, he eased into a gentle relaxation. And with an unspoken prayer of thanks, Selphie slipped away with him.

"Maybe we're not as sorry...as we think we are," she whispered.

She touched her nose to his cheek, as he ran his hands gently through her auburn hair.

Around them, the training room fell dark. The swinging heavybags cast long shadows upon their embrace. Footsteps echoed in, as two Nebrian soldiers called in distant voices.

"...Hello? Are you down here, ma'am? Anybody home?"

"Nah, she's gone. Let's hit the rest of the lights and get outta here..."

The footsteps and voices faded away as quickly as they came, but the darkness enveloped Aren and Selphie in pitch black shadows. They never took notice. They lay together in tender embrace, and even in the darkness they gazed upon each others' eyes. It was there, in the darkness, that they shared their first kiss.

~

Sleepless, eyes open wide  
Before heaven I stand again  
If here's no winning this war tonight,  
I was wondering...

If you could steady my spinning head

And trusting gets harder now  
I wish you were here beside me  
My failures, my fears and doubts  
Have been haunting me...

I'm just not who I thought I'd be

Freefall  
Weightless and terrified  
On I go, crossing over  
From living to so alive  
And purified

I know weeping is cast for the night

But joy...

Joy comes in the morning

~


	36. Forcing a Smile

~

"Aren, wait! I'll go with you! Just hold on, and I'll get my boots-"

No time!

The rusted street flew under Aren's Screamer at hundreds of miles per hour. Six in the morning, but none of the Nebrian "daylamps" had activated to announce the dawn. In a neighborhood as bad as this, Aren knew, most of them had probably been destroyed. He raised the bike's headlight intensity and sped up.

No time, he thought again. No time to wait for Selphie, to think twice, to do anything but _go! _The audio sirens from his Terran armor were still present; still pounding his skull with panic.

Unit 44B taking damage! Move to assist! Unit 44B taking damage! Move to assist!

After all these years, Snap's armor was still neural-netted to Aren's. It was a good thing, because Snap was off-duty, and his neural nets to the other soldiers were broken. Aren was the only one to hear his cry for help.

The sleek battle machine began to lose grip on the road. A flourescent rain fell from the darkness high above, and ran horizontally into his windshields. _Water pipe must have burst at the ceiling, _Aren thought, and four wipers did their best to ward off the torrential storm.

At the entrance to a beaten, multi-story living complex, the Screamer skidded to a halt. The cockpit swished open; the soldier leapt forth. His heavy suit of armor was draped with the eerie remains of the jumper cloth. The torn shreds whipped about his body and cast a supernatural glow.

Aren ripped the old wooden door off its hinges. The lobby was a mess of blood and splinters. The hotel's owner and security guard lay embedded in the front desk.

Another body was impaled to the ceiling, by a javelin of ice.

Within his helmet, Aren's vision zoomed in, and he examined the wall of keys behind the desk. _Snap's staying in Room 12 on the second floor._

Aren's handguns flipped up from his armor. They cocked a round into each chamber automatically as he grabbed them. His metallic boots pounded the floor as he climbed the stairs. The lights to the second floor were shot out. The armor sensed the darkness, and switched Aren's visor to infra-red.

A young lady was crumpled against the wall, beside Room 12. The door was broken down.

Aren grew closer, slowly inching his way toward the girl, and aiming his guns into each open door on the way to reach her. None were occupied, not even Room 12. Aren knelt beside the girl, and lay his hand on her back.

"Can you hear me?" he asked, gently but quickly. "Are you there?"

He heard a reply, but the words were too quiet. The buzzing of his infra-red visor drowned them out. Aren unlocked his helmet, and lay it on the floor beside him. A small floodlight opened from his shoulder, and shone upon the girl.

It was Ai-Mei. Her face was a mess of exposed wires, and her white bathrobe was soaked in blood. She quietly recited a prayer for the dead, one that Aren had never learned before.

He gently raised her into his arms. "Mei..." he whispered, coughed, choked on his own breaths. "Hi, honey..."

She struggled to focus her swollen eyes. Her face twitched, as wires snapped against each other with lively sparks. "Ohh...ughh...hhynne...whhooo-are...you..."

Her breaths were labored, and her forced words came out as cries. Aren adjusted her carefully, and raised his arm. He opened a small compartment on his leg plating, and retrieved a small syringe. To help with the pain, if nothing else.

"It's me...it's Aren," he said.

"...ehhh...aren...its...itsyou?..."

He nodded and smiled, as bright as he would allow himself. "Yeah...I made it back."

"...and...ann-kore...is...he-dead?"

"He is."

"...ohh...then...its...itsover..."

Despite the horrible damage to her face, and the crossing and snapping of the wires, her lips and cheeks began to contort. They twitched and spasmed, but finally set into a grotesque expression.

"...look...lookaren...a...smile..."

He forced a smile with her, and told her it was beautiful, and to keep working on it. Because he would see it again.

~


End file.
